


Ceux qui rêvent

by BrokeBannerd



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Lucas is a hopeless romantic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boss/Employee Relationship, Eliott can't show his emotions in this one, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, New York City, POV First Person, SKAM - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 83,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokeBannerd/pseuds/BrokeBannerd
Summary: "There’s another Lucas in a skyscraper in New York, signing a million-euro contract with some very angry Russians,"When Lucas applied for a part-time job at TurnerDemaury&Co he never thought he might actually get hired. But here he was, stuck with a cold-as-ice boss in a job he was terrible at. But no matter how many times he messed up, Mr. Mystery Boss never seemed to want to fire him, it was getting frustrating. It didn't really help that the said boss was more fit for the front cover of Vogue than behind his scary desk.
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant, Eliott Demaury/Lucille (SKAM France)
Comments: 326
Kudos: 333





	1. The fratty boy in the elevator

**Author's Note:**

> Hey this is my first fic in this fandom and English isn't my first language please bear with me :)

**Wednesday 19:31**

“Are you sure I’m not bothering you?” I asked Emma, hands deep in my pockets and my suitcase still on the staircase near the door. “It’s still not too late to change your mind. I mean I could go to any hotel nearby,”

Emma finally emerged from the bathroom, hair straightener in one hand and lipstick in the other. “Dude what the fuck!” She quirked her eyebrow at me. “You’re not bothering, Lucas, Seriously. If anyone’s bothering me it is Arthur who passes out on the couch at the most random hours, Like right now.”

I smiled at her. Emma was always kind to me. It was actually her who emailed me the second she found out I was moving to New York.

_“Lucas! I am so sad I had to hear it from Yann! Why did you not inform us you finally decided to go to NYC? Well, I have some good news for you! Arthur and I have an excess bedroom in the apartment! It has no use for us except filling it up with garbage. We’ll be ecstatic to at least use it for some hot garbage lol no offence. Besides, the rent will split up so It’s a win-win! Let me know if you’re interested, Kisses, Emma xoxo_

And I had nowhere to go. I knew my own father was somewhere in these streets but he hadn’t responded to me in years. I knew a few of my professors who had left Paris and were now teaching here. But I couldn’t call them asking to rent their couch. So Emma it was. Arthur was living with her as well. He had left few months before I had though his case was much more rational than mine. He was in an intern in some advertising company. I was here because I had gotten exhausted with everything back home.

She guided me to a room just next to the door in the tiny apartment. It was pretty much empty except for a bed probably from the regency era. It was better than nothing.

“Look I know it’s small and everything but think positive!” She announced, turning the lights on. Which was not the brightest idea because there were at least ten huge dead cockroaches on the floor. “Or as positive as you can be,” She shrugged and left. Great. I walked to the window, glancing down at the street below. It was still a crowded city, so much like home yet so different. I pulled out my phone to text mama I was safe.

*****

**Sunday 10:35**

Arthur was kind enough to take me downtown to a Chinese antique shop that sold furniture and “Pretty much anything you need and things you didn’t even know you need”, his words. I was stuck to his side like a scared puppy. He seemed so confident around here. His English was almost perfect, only a tint of accent which was super cute. I wasn’t even sure anyone would understand a word I said. Arthur helped me pick a few necessary items; a drawer, a very tiny bed-side table and even curtains. By the time we were returning to his—now mine, too- apartment I two cents left in my wallet.

“So why now?” He asked me. I know what he meant; why now after all these months I begged you to come around?

“I just—I don’t know,” I shrugged, helping him carry the drawer upstairs. Yes, the apartment didn’t have an elevator. “I wanted to give myself a real opportunity. I liked working at Mika’s bar don’t get me wrong and helping around the house but It was so repetitive I already felt like I was living in a vison of me in my late 40s. It made me feel so trapped, drown. I think we have the same reasons more or less.”

Arthur chuckled. “Spoiler alert, it gets quite boring here, too. I work all day, Emma works all night. Day, night, Repeat.”

“I have to get a job too seriously routine messes with my brain,” I told him. Arthur paused all of sudden, causing the drawer to hit the wall. I was quick to rotate the already damaged piece of wood to avoid its complete destruction. I glared at Arthur afterwards but he didn’t seem to mind. “Actually our company is hiring,”

“Yeah sure I can become a manager with a microbiology B.S. in an advertising company,”

“Dude, they are hiring a coffee guy. Like you used to work for Mika’s for five years. You will be perfect!”

“Mika had a bar!”

“They don’t know that!”

*****

**Monday 11:03**

“I don’t know Mr. Lallemant _Soiree Coquette_ doesn’t sound like a coffee shop.” The woman from behind the table eyes me again. Erase that, for the tenth time. She had suspected something was off already. This was an stupid idea.

“It is a Café, ma’am.”

She gazed at me like she was dead for the last ten years of her life. The frame of her glasses were too large for her face, It was like one of those glasses angry secretaries wore in cliché 50s movies. She typed something on her laptop before sighing loudly. “Then why it has a Facebook page with the description of Our tequila will suck your sorrow wet or whatever. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No it doesn’,” I shrugged. It was obvious I wasn’t going to get that job.

“I’ll call you if we were interested,” Which would be never.

I thanked her, swearing at Arthur as I walked up to the elevator. The company was indeed luxury, Located in the heart of Madison Avenue, A sky scraper with shiny gold letters of _Turner, Demaury and Co._ carved artistically on its side. It was stupid of me really to think I could even get hired at a place like this.

I was alone in the elevator for a floor or two until someone else walked in. I didn’t pay them much attention, I was already calling Arthur to share the excellent news of expected rejection.

The guy’s eyes were on me but I didn’t even spare him a glance. I could see the side of his expensive—Armani Bulgari Prada whatever hell- suit. If he was staring at my worn out cardigan and sneakers well may them be the big fuck you I always wanted to scream at the face of capitalism.

“Lucas! Are we going to go leave the house tomorrow together?” Arthur asked, a little too cheerful.

“Seriously Arthur?” I huffed, Rubbing at my eyes in exasperation. “That scary ass lady who looked like the American typist from _Populaire_ figured out Mika’s stylish croissant café was in fact a gay bar with bloody dildo light bulbs,” I said in French because I still had some dignity left not to say dildo light bulb next to a stranger. Emma and Arthur had both warned me against this. _What they say Arthur? Ah yes you’re in America so Speak English._ Emma said she had bitter memories. Whatever.

“What? How?” 

“Because it has a Facebook page! Who uses Facebook anymore?” I nagged. “Honestly I’m not surprised. I did look around and all of your staff are over 30 I’m sure some even have MySpace. That woman was already going to reject me anyway,”

“Lucas, reminder that I still look like I’m still in lycée,”

“Well you yes. Maybe you and this guy next to me in the elevator, I mean I haven’t looked at his face but his shitty cologne is so fratty no man above 19 will wear it.” I giggled.

“what if he knows French? —Oops sorry, sir, my bad,” He laughed. I could already picture him throwing his head back and hitting someone walking by. It made me giggle.

“Yeah because rich boys with loaded dads know anything but spending their papa’s money,” I was being rude, I knew. But I was denied a job where this guy worked and I was angry. And I was serious, the man’s hands looked to young. He was no way beyond his 30s. And I was sure he was only reason to either model for something or was the son of one of the founders. “Anyway I obviously didn’t get the job. I’m actually going home right now to redecorate the room,”

“Your room,” He corrected me.

“Yeah. My room,” I smiled, hanging up as I waited to reach the first floor. I didn’t even notice the guy near me opening the door and holding it for me to exit first until I was in the lobby. I quickly turned around to at least take a look at his face and I was speechless.

He was the most handsome man I had ever seen; Head held high in confidence, a light tint of stubble with high cheekbones. He was wearing sunglasses but was I was certain his eyes would only add to his charm. He was also tall, lean but muscular and I probably looked like an idiot staring at him like that. But oh boy I didn’t blame myself at all. I followed him with my eyes until he left. The door man wishing him a good day and opening his car’s door for him. I didn’t even know what that car’s name was.

Some people really had it all, huh?

I sighed as I tried to find my way back home with Google map.

*****

**Wednesday 16:17**

I was just texting Yann, my bestie back home a picture of my room almost finished when Arthur and Emma were at it again.

“What the hell? You can’t use my t-shirt to clean the bathroom floor!” Arthur yelled.

“If you really cared about your oh-so-precious T-shirt maybe you shouldn’t have left in the sink!”

“I was going to wash it there!”

“When? It was there for three days!”

“Well had it ever crossed your mind if something isn’t yours in this house maybe it belongs to someone else because guess what you are living with someone else!”

“I’m sorry it’s difficult to track everything with all the shit—“

_16:18_

_New Message from Yann_

_“It looks pretty decent. You did it all by yourself?”_

_You “No, Emma Helped a lot too.”_

_Yann “How is she btw”_

_You “Fighting with Arthur. Apparently she used his shirt to clean the bathroom floor”_

_Yann “LOL that is so Emma”_

I was about to come up with a clever comeback when someone dialed me. Unknown number, From NYC. They were also calling my second SIM. Maybe It was from one of the several places I had applied for a part-time job. I closed the door before picking up, not really wanting them to hear Emma and Arthur argue in the back ground.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mr.Lallemant?” an unknown female voice asked me.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Noora Sætre. I’m calling from _Turner,Demaury & Co_. I just wanted to say congratulations. I reviewed your files again and you’re hired,”

“Oh. Wow! Oh wow! Really?”

“You can start tomorrow morning. Good evening,”

The second the line was dead I texted Yann the good news and then left the room to deliver the good news to my roommates.

…”You know what Arthur you never deserved to have that crazy frog cushion!”

“How dare you say that to me?”

“Guys,” I called them. They both ignored me, too invested in their petty argument over … A mug and cushions now? Arthur was holding a mug out of the window looking dead serious and Emma was holding a washing powder in her hands like an offended mother.

“Maybe wash your own shirts—“

“GUYS!” I repeated angrily. “I think I found a job!”

Then they were both suddenly beaming at me and asking me about it.

*****

**Thursday 8:12**

“There has to be a mistake, mademoiselle _Sætre_. I applied for the Barista Job,” I informed the woman who had called me. She was an office manager, I didn’t know what it was but she was still a manager. “I didn’t even know you were hiring for secretaries,”

 _Sætre_ was both taller and a faster walker than me and it was really tough to keep up with it.

“I’m sure there has been a mistake,” I insisted.

She turned around on the heel of her shoes, staring right into my soul. “Are you the Lucas Lallemant who was here this Monday or not?”

“Yes,” I answered, clutching to my hand bag.

“Then you’re hired, why are resisting?” She seemed exasperated but then again Yann often told me I was an expert in making people lose their patience.

“But I have zero experience in being secretary. At least I know about coffees. Last night I was up until 3 reading about coffee-making machines on WikiHow.”

She stared at me for a few seconds like I was the least intelligent kindergartner in a not very bright class. “Look kid I can put you two floors down, have you make hot chocolate for all you want. I’m sure you get your pretty hands burnt in two days or less. Here, All you have to do here is write down appointments, get him his bitter morning coffee, endure his more bitter personality and you’ll have a full-time job. Sixty five grand a year without the extra hours and if you ask me that is a lot more than what an average secretary can even ask for. The decision is yours,”

“How much is 65 thousand dollars in euros?”

*****

**Thursday 8:30**

So here I was. I was sitting near a window wall, 32 floors above the ground and hyperventilating each time my gaze betrayed me and looked down. I had to already take two tranquilizers to keep my nerves together. It was so high.

I didn’t even know who I was working for. This person was already late but judging from the fact that his name was Eliott Demaury and the company’s name was Tuner, Demaury and Co it wasn’t really difficult to guess the guy was either a major shareholder or a major shareholder’s relative. I mean my table was bigger than some people’s offices down stairs. I tried googling him. There were few articles about him but nothing much; a graduation picture from Yales that didn’t really help with other seventy people in it. There was also another graduation pic from Paris, for his M.A. There were fewer people in it but the quality was so comically bad I couldn’t zoom in more than once.

I was in the midst of deduction on a case that would be solved in little time on its own when my eyelids became heavy. It was the tranquilizers and I was aware I shouldn’t be sleeping on my first day, something about first impressions and all. But then again Mr. Mystery boss was already late. I looked at my phone, it was almost nine. I could use a five-minute nap after all the videos I had watched the night before about stupid Latte Art. Just five minutes.

*****

“Hello?” someone was saying above me.

I was having a lovely dream about sleeping more and although the voice that was calling to me was strange and I had to at least be concerned but I was really really tired. “uh-hum,”

“Are you actually sleeping?”

“Can’t you see?” I rubbed my face more aggressively into my folded forearms under my forehead.

“I want a hot cup of Nescafe on my table in five minutes.”

“Please leave me alone” I groaned. The man said nothing for a few seconds until I heard the loud banging of the door. I jumped on my seat, Startled and suddenly awake. Oh my god. That was my _fucking boss._

I could see a few people eying me, most of them looked genuinely concerned and sympathetic. Some were shaking their head in pity. Oh god. Sixty five grand a year without extra hours. I could do this. I could do this. I would do this. Nescafe yes. I ran the stairways for six floors because if I wanted for the either of elevators to get to me from the second and sixth floor I had to wait for at least ten minutes. “oh shit putain!” I was soaked in sweat once I was already asking for a Nescafe. The guy just gave me a weird look which honestly wasn’t professional. On _Localwise_ it was written I always had to be nice to customers. I didn’t say anything though, just grabbed the coffee. I checked my watch. I had about two minutes to run 6 floors and not spill the coffee. I couldn’t—

“Do you have tape?” I asked him.

They guy gave me another weird look but handed me a wide tape. I taped around the rim of the cup a few layers and one on top. “Great!”

“You could have just told me you wanted one to go! I would’ve used a different cup!”

“Why are you telling me this now?” I felt really stupid. The sleep drugs. Arthur and Emma took plenty of those; no wonder they acted so fucking strange all the time.

“Where are you from man?”

“That’s not how you speak to customer. Google how to be a good Barista!” I told him before running away to Demaury’s office. I could hear the guy laughing. Any other situation I would have laughed too. He was a good-looking man. But I had no time.

I was exactly on time the second I was knocking and entering his office. “Here is your coffee, Just let me get rid of the tapes I hope your coffee doesn’t taste like paste and plastic—“

 _Oh fuck_. It was the sexy guy from elevator

“Bonjour. Je vois que tu es plus eveille maintenant” His voice was distant and so cold. But wait. Ws he speaking in--

_I haven’t looked at his face but his shitty cologne is so fratty no man above 19 will wear it_

_what if he knows French?_

_Yeah because rich boys with loaded dads know anything but spending their papa’s money_

My eyes quickly fell on the name badge on his desk. **_“Eliott Demaury, Creative Director”_** then back to the stare of death sitting behind it. ** _  
_**

I was so so fucked.


	2. You’ve been here for two weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys thank you so much for all the positive feedback! It gives me life<3

**Thursday 17:30**

Today was by far one of the worst days of my life. I had worse, obviously. The day my father left us, the day my mother was put into mental health care facility, days I barely had two euros in my pockets. But there was a huge difference here; I never pressured my dad to leave and I didn’t give my mom her illness. But this, I brought this on myself. I had a terrible habit of babbling absolute nonsense when I was irritated but where was decency that day?

I was in a bus stop, cringing each time I reviewed that cursed day in my head. I probably looked like the perfect picture of misery; some old lady had even shaken her head in pity while walking pass me.

WHY?

“Hey sorry it took me long,” Arthur came along very enthusiastically. “I still had a few sketches—wow what’s eating you?”

He was way too cheerful for an accomplice in our shared life-wrecking phone call. “What’s eating—Arthur I was hired as Eliott Demaury’s secretary!”

“Duh I saw your text. What’s the problem? That guy is an obsessive perfectionist who has his employees do the bare minimum because he’s afraid of the smallest fuck-ups. Congratulations best boss ever!”

But how could Arthur, clever ingenious Arthur actually believe that?

Eliott Demaury was not a perfectionist. He was a sadist.

After speaking French to me on purpose, which was on purpose I swear my life, He sent me back to get him another coffee because the one I already gotten him _looked_ cool. That’s right; he said it looked cool. He didn’t even touch the thing. So eyes as thermometers were a thing now. I had to get him another one and bear with the amused face of the barista. I ignored him, cute or not maybe I liked to have two cups in ten minutes. Who was he to judge? Some people were addicted to Heroin, addiction to coffee was perfectly fine.

Then “Best boss ever” Had me resorting all the files the previous secretary had already sorted alphabetically. He wanted them to be arranged based on their dates. And some of these were old, like from the _70s._ When I was half-way through finishing the first set, he grabbed his coat to leave. “No you know what, Mr. Lallement some of them are really old. Sort the ones signed after ’05 by date and for anything pre that I don’t really care. Just be able to find them yourself the minute I ask for them,”

Wasn’t this modern slavery? It was my first day. My first day.

His documents were not two or three folders, nope. There were at least 50 thick and full folders. Some more recent files were on his computer but he insisted on having a copy.

“But what about environment?” I questioned him once. “You are wasting all these papers Mr. Demaury and a baby polar bear has to suffer the consequences of climate change,”

“If anyone’s wasting papers, it’s not me. Mind your business,”

I almost cried thinking about today. I was so glad it was almost over. “Yeah, Best boss ever,” I mimicked Arthur. He nodded, totally unaware of how I said it as an irony. 

*****

**Friday 8:45**

I was so proud of myself. The second Demaury was heading into this office I went downstairs and bought his coffee. He didn’t seem to mind the delay but I guess he didn’t expect me to welcome him with a warm cup; after all he didn’t seem to have a specific schedule to start his days. Lucky him, I had to wake up an hour and a half early to be on time.

“I’m sorry Mr. Demaury but they said the syrups were free today. I really tried to resist but the vanilla one smelled so heavenly. I can still change it if you’d like,” He dismissed me with a simple wave of his hand, not even bothering to look elsewhere from his laptop screen. He didn’t deserve anything free in his life. 

“I’m heading to copy room. Do you need me to print anything?”

He said nothing. Was I being ghosted, by my boss, in person? What the fuck.

*****

**Friday 9:13**

I was in the copy room, still grumpy even minutes after him ignoring me. Why did he think he could treat me like that? What was his job that was so important? Out of curiosity I reached out to see what the add was about. I smirked the second I saw it; it was a mini version of a billboard cartoon art for a shampoo with the luxury price of 75 dollars. The magical bottle was supposed to do everything, condition the hair, keep it shiny all day, fight bacteria, fight pollution, fight free radicals and so many other characteristic only someone who was to travel the entire Lord of the Rings universe would need all of it.

I placed that paper aside to see how many more sheets I had to print. 376. Great. I jumped on the counter, pulling out my phone to call Yann.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, already forgotten me?”

 _“please, as if I could. Life is too perfect now that you took all the trouble with you._ ”

“Just say you miss me,” I grinned. The line was silent. “Hey, It’s not too early there, is it?”

_“No, it’s OK. It’s just my sister needed some help shopping and I’m helping her choose soap and shit. Can you believe how expensive these things are? I always took them for granted,”_

“Tell me about it. My weird boss is making adds about a 75-dollar shampoo,”

Yann laughed, receiving a hush from his sister. “ _Wait, you’re serious?”_

“Yes. This thing is 75 bucks. Can you believe that? It’s supposed to kill the bacteria too. I just rather put tetracycline on my head,” I giggled. “And if I even saw the banner and suppressed my laughter, the price would throw me off. People who buy luxurious brands usually know what to expect; it’s much better to just promote them online. More money saved,”

“ _Uh-hum. Why don’t you say that to him?”_

“As If he listens to me. It’s my second day and I already hate him,” I nagged. ”He’s so self-centered,”

“Y _ou think everyone is selfish unless they plan a birthday party for you,”_ He had a point.

“Your papers are falling off,” Someone said behind my back. I almost fell off the table, dropping my phone. I didn’t even spin around to see who it was. The printer made a deafening beep noise and then it let out a massive expanse of air, causing my papers which had only fallen to start flying all over the tiny room.

“What the hell?” I groaned. “Oh god oh god,” I was panicking so much instead of turning the thing off, I completely unplugged the device from electricity. I furtively turned my gaze to the floor. All the papers were out of order now. I had just made myself hours of extra work.

My phone case had opened and the battery was somewhere under the heavy mass of paper sheets. Great.

“You’re cute,”

I turned around to see who had both saved me and given me a heart attack. The man seemed friendly with a full-teeth smile. But wait, did he just call me cute?

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I think it was cute when you were all freaking out,” He shrugged. “And by the way that anti-bacterial thing was my idea,” He added.

“What?”

“I’m really sorry but I overheard your conversation. I’m Sofiane. I was the copy writer who came up with that line, I meant it for teeth. It’s a multipurpose product,” He was so serious at that moment I was imagining someone eating a bottle of pink lavender shampoo in TV commercial saying _“I don’t even have to brush my teeth anymore, my shampoo does it for me,”_. It didn’t help that I was imagining Mr. Demaury doing that and then passing out.

Then he burst out laughing. “I’m sorry but your face was priceless,”

I felt so dumb and my face must have shown. Because he apologetically bent down and helped me clean the mess. “Why don’t you tell Eliott about this? I think it’s really clever to spend more budget promoting the more expensive items online,”

When he said that, I could see there was absolute no mockery in his words. He actually meant them; He really thought my on-spot criticism was an bright idea. “No, I was just saying things. He’ll probably ignore them,”

“Not if I tell him,”

“I guess,” I shrugged, thanking him for the help.

*****

**Friday 14:35**

The beeping sound from the phone on my desk was so unexpected, especially at this hour. “Mr. Lallement, would you come to my office?”

I pressed one and talked into near the phone’s speaker. “Do you hear me, Sir?”

“Yes, that is what pressing that number is supposed to do,”

“Right. Because I wanted to let you I may have wrecked the printer. It wasn’t intentional. It seemed totally functional but I can’t turn it on now. I jus—“

“In my office. Now,”

_Merde._

Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about the printer? But it was better than him finding out later from the videotapes or the Charles guy telling him. I ran my shaky hands through my hair. How much did a printer cost?

I knocked on the door a few times. Nothing.

“Mr. Demaury may I come in?”

“yes please.” He was not sitting behind his desk. It was the first time ever He was leaning back against the window wall, How could he? Just looking through that window made my head spin, let alone leaning my weight over it,” looking so sharp in his white shirt. He really did look like was Christian grey should have been. Those women were thirsting over the wrong guy.

“Does it scare you?”

I realized I had been staring.

“What?”

“The height. Does it scare you?

 _Yes._ “No,”

He tilted his head, arms crossed as he stared deep into my eyes. I felt like he was staring right into my soul, like I was bare of skin.

“Come here,” He commanded.

“Sir?”

“I said come here,”

I took a deep breath. I was not going to let him see he was intimidating me. Maybe he was, but maybe _I_ _felt_ intimated. The line was very blurry but I was sure there was a line. I stood before him, hands sweaty. He was really taller this close, I had to tilt my neck to see him. He stepped away from the glass, circling me in a way that my back was pressed to the window.

I glanced down side ways. I was really high up from the ground. My hands clutched to the notebook I was holding like an anchor. As if once the glass behind me shattered the notebook would turn into a balloon and save me. “Are you sacred?”

“No,”

He leant in, very lightly punching the window with the side of his closed fist. I felt the glass vibrating. Oh god.

“Ok, Ok. Maybe I’m a little scared,” I confessed, closing my eyes.

“Now listen very carefully. I don’t care about damned printers. But I will not have you criticize the hard work of my team and I in a phone call with a _friend,_ ” He was not even blinking. How was he not blinking? “No-one in my 6 year of hard work here dared to question my campaigns until that is today one of my favorites decided to talk about _Promoting online_ in _a phone call_ with my client. Guess what, their shareholders thought we think of our own campaign as failure and that’s why we want to cover it up with only online adds. Why do you think is that?”

“They don’t know the power of social media?”

“No. Because a little bird was putting ideas in Sofiane’s head, that’s why.”

“I didn’t put ideas in his brain,” I mumbled. “I was being honest,”

“I lost a half million-dollar business today because of that honesty Mr. Lallement. It’s better to lie sometimes, tell people what they want to hear, maybe they decide to stay if you give them a faux sense of stability,” He said. And the vulnerability in his voice as he said that last sentence was surreal. His eyes softened, the lines at their corner faded, He looked so young. “Don’t make mistakes like that ever again,”

I just stared at him. Then I tried to look apologetic, which was tough. Give me a break everyone Demaury’s face was so close, so focused on me. He looked so different, like he wasn’t a heartless machine. And even though a piece of glass was the only thing between me and height, one of my greatest fears, I wasn’t scared for a minute. My fingers relaxed against my notebook, and I realized I was leaning into him. He even smelled different… He had changed his cologne. It was not the fratty peppery scent. It was so rich, like coffee, tobacco and Vanilla; so inviting. I involuntary sniffed, it smelled so familiar—like the sweetest vanilla syrup. Wait a minute—

His eyes widened for a second, stepping back as if I had set him on fire. “You can go now.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About the whole situation with your client,”

He didn’t say anything else and I just left.

*****

**Saturday, 10:27**

“Emma, what does it mean when a guy changes his perfume?”

“He bought a new one,” She answered, pouring more cereal into her bowl of milk. She looked wrecked but she had already declared Friday nights were the busiest nights in the bars.

“No, no. Like when you tell him you like a certain scent and he buys a perfume that resembles that scent, for example… vanilla,” I tried to pretend I was being completely casual about it, like _asking for a friend_ casual but I probably had done a shitty job because she raised her eyebrows.

“What?” I muttered.

“Seriously? You’ve been here for two weeks. _Two weeks_. You have a full-time job _and_ a guy who fucking buys new perfumes because your spoiled ass likes vanilla? Fuck me and my life,”

“What I didn’t say he did it for me.” I protested, grabbing a spoon to eat some from her cereal.

“You literally did,” She pointed her fork at me in a fight-me-if-you-can gesture.

“Well, what does it mean?” I persuaded her, inching closer, an involuntary grin on my face. 

“He likes you dummy,” She playfully cheered, dancing her shoulders to a non-existing melody.

“I don’t think so,” I told her, mouth full of milk that some droplets ran down my chin.

“Yeah well if he were seeing you right now I highly doubt he all but look at you again,”

I cleaned my chin with the back of my hand, poking my tongue at her. She didn’t really care, asking me if there was anything I wanted to do on my free day.

I asked her to take me to the central park.

*****

**Saturday 16:12**

Arthur didn’t come with us. He was too tired after a long week; all he wanted to do was lie in bed and watch an entire season of _Criminal minds._ We left him to his devices, His Netflix and the left-overs of last night’s dinner. Emma was glad he didn’t come, she said he often nagged about his legs hurting after more than twenty minutes of walking. “That boy has no meat on his bones, just skin,” She teased.

She walked me through the park like it was her second home. The place was really enormous. Emma said it would be phenomenal in the autumn, with all the warms colors in contrast of chill in the air. We walked on a bridge and I took more than ten selfies. She didn’t really whine about me acting like a kid going to Disneyland for the first time.

I even posted a picture of Emma and I together with a big chocolate chip walnut cookie in each of us’ hands, with a simple caption of “When Harry met Sally except greener”. Emma thought it was funny and we had a good laugh about all the angry emojis Yann was commenting. A few other friends were calling us betrayers.

We were finally exhausted after running around all day, sitting by a lake and drinking a cold apple juice, perfect for august. 

“So have you seen anyone, since coming here I mean?”

“No, After Alex I was really not ready to meet new people. We came here together and we didn’t even last a month after that. Then I suddenly had three part-time jobs. I would call a day lucky if I received more than five hours of sleep. Once I had the job at bar, Arthur was here. Then we moved into a new house; more rent, more working hours. I didn’t really have the time.” She pouted, gaze on something beyond the lake and over the horizon of endless trees. It must have been tough for her; a new city, a _new country_ with absolute no-one. I couldn’t imagine how scary everything would have looked without Arthur or Emma. I always loved the two of them but here, I was suddenly so dependent on them. I reached out and squeezed her arm with gentleness. She smiled at me, it was slightly sad but I didn’t question it.

“But you already found a man,” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Ever the charmer, Lallement,”

“Girl he’s way out of my league,” I shrugged. I couldn’t help but beam now that I was talking to someone about Demaury. I still hated the guy but it was nice to talk about a romantic interest in months. Emma didn’t know who it was and I could always pretend it was someone else or that it didn’t work. “And he’s not exactly the nicest man ever,”

“Well his loss,” She rested her back against the chair to talk about the few times she and Arthur had played pranks on teenagers who were smoking here. They had told them they work for the park and they have to contact their parents for illegal smoking and endangering the park. It was funny and I was too busy laughing that I didn’t notice the vibrating sound from my phone.

*****

**Saturday 19:21**

On the way home, Emma was asleep in the boss, head resting on my shoulder. I hadn’t touched my phone in hours. I had this weird habit of not touching my phone after I posted something on Instagram. Maybe I was an egoist, but I enjoyed seeing all the likes and comments altogether.

Before opening the app, I noticed that I had three missed calls from an unknown number. I frowned, the series of numbers felt oddly familiar. I also had two voice mails. I plugged my headphones and played it.

_“Hello, It’s LuLu your favorite boy here what’s the story, it better not be long because I won’t listen”_

_“…um..It’s Eliott Demaury.”_ I paused the voice mail. What was that voice? He sounded so dazed, like he had just woken up after a night of hangover and sex. I looked at other people in the boss, did anyone else hear that? Didn’t anyone else hear that? That voice was so different from his normal. It was so deep. I saved it in my downloads because—well because it was attractive, it was elegant. Besides who would it hurt if I had a recording of my boss on my phone? How did he even get my number anayway? My hands were shaking as I resumed the audio. _“I wanted to inform you I’m having an important conference meeting this week and I want the Louise airlines files from 2008 and two other dates in 90s. I don’t correctly remember the exact date but they were in late 90s. I want them sorted, classified and briefed on my desk before 9.a.m Monday morning. They are some sketches from their previous anniversaries they requested us to reuse. Make sure you have them all. Miss Sætre will put it on your extra hours.”_

Mother of—

I played the other one. “ _Please contact me if you received my message Mr. Lallement. I believe your job is more important that sightseeing around the parks,”_

This guy had no emotions.

How did he know I was out today?


	3. I may or may not have my sight set on someone else

**Sunday 20:23**

It was almost finished. The only thing left to do was printing the damned posters. If I was going to have to print about 100 pages a week, I might as well order a printer. I didn’t know how long I was going to keep my job—likely two more weeks with my astonishing record already. But hey, I already thought I was going to get my ass thrown out of that building with the damage I had costed Mr. Demaury but at least now I knew it was so petit. The Louise Airlines were paying the company 8 million dollars a year, steadily, since 1985, and my boss was their soon-to-be-favorite. At least I hoped so.

I’m not going to lie, Eliott Demaury was seriously a genius. Most of their adds before him were routine airline adds that’s seen on TV every day; a Victoria’s secret model as a flight attendant serving a handsome Man in his mid-30s a glass of champagne and then a shot from outside the plane as it was flying in an almost delusional sunny sky. Mr. Demaury’s adds were quite artistic—the ones that made you look up your phone and smile at TV. One was an imitation of the movie Inception; it was so flawless in its cinematography it was like an A+ movie trailer.

And the arts! They were so cunning. One was of a mother feeding her baby boy a spoon of broccoli and calling it a plane, then a comical photo of a real airplane in his bowl. It wasn’t a routine commercial; it was a type that one remembered.

I saved the files, texted Mr.Demaury that it was done. As anticipated, it was delivered and seen with no response. I changed his name from “unknown number” to “Arrogant loser”. It suited him much better.

Just when I turned off the laptop, the door-bell rang. It was weird. No-one really visited us. I was there for a little more than ten days but if there was anyone coming I had to know. Maybe Emma had left something and was now here to pick it up. The bell rang again, this time accompanied with a knock.

“Arthur?” I called him, going to knock on his door but he wasn’t there. His hearing aids were neatly placed on his bedside table with a new pair of boxers and t-shirt. Only then I heard the sound of shower running. Of course he hadn’t heard.

Another knock.

“I’m coming!” I shouted, picking up a pair of pajama bottoms to wear on my way. I groaned as I finally made it to the door, letting it slide open just enough to see who it was.

There was a man I didn’t know. He was wearing a khaki hoodie which was a weird choice of clothing because it was still summer. I looked at his face, kind of concerned, but awkwardly smiling. “oh…Hi,” He beamed as he saw me. Then he offered a box. “I made a cake,”

What the fuck.

“Good for you?” I questioned.

“I made it for you,” He said.

Double what the fuck. I was two seconds away from calling the police.

He quickly corrected himself. “Well not for you specifically. I will be glad if you eat it, too, though”

“Are you trying to sell me weed brownies?”

“What? No it’s an actual cake! I’m your upstairs neighbor, Nick. You’re living with Emma, right?”

I nodded. But I was still hesitant to open the door. Nick was weird.

“I make cooking tutorials on YouTube. I’m no expert so sometimes It all becomes too much” I regarded his hoodie; no wonder it was khaki. I still could some traces of flour and egg whites on it. He noticed, though there wasn’t much he could do except trying to uselessly shake if out with. “Arthur and Emma are always enthusiastic to try them out,” He smiled. I narrowed my eyes, trying to study him.

“What’s the name of your channel?”

He looked taken back. “Um.. Nickocakean”

Wow. Someone lived in this apartment complex who was even dorkier than I was. What a relief. I searched for his channel on my phone and yes, here he was; almost 500k subscribers which was a lot considering his username.

“Ok, thanks,” I grabbed the box from him, trying to close the door on him.

“Wait what is your name?”

“Figure that out cake boy,” I closed the door, smirking at the look of awe on Nick’s face. I actually heard him sigh. Thirty minutes later _Official_Nick_Rodriguez_ was following me.

*****

**Monday 10:35**

“Mr. Lallement would you please come inside?”

I pressed one. “Sir, is there something wrong with the files?”

“No, for once you have not made a mistake,”

I put on my glasses—sometimes it was needed, especially when dealing with reading smaller fonts –which the prints were. No matter how many times Mr. Demaury said it wasn’t a waste, I still tried to save the planet by printing less. And yes, I do believe in that stuff.

I checked my reflection in the glass wall, trying to look more presentable. After all the clients were also inside Mr. Demaury’s office.

The second I stepped inside I felt like a sixth-grader who was going to get detention from every single teacher. They were all looking at me; Demaury at the end of his great conference table. The curtains were down; the sketches were on playing on the projector in the order I had put them. I really did hope I had not fucked up this time.

“Mr. Demaury, did you need anything?”

“Young man, how old are you?” Another man, sitting closets to Demaury called. He looked old but confident, he must have been the manager from the airline company.

“23, sir,” I answered.

“Have you ever been on an airplane?”

“Yes,”

“Do you book your own flights?”

My glanced fled to Demaury whose eyes were glued to me. He wasn’t angry but he was under pressure.

“Yes sir, I’m a normal person,” I answered. Demaury’s eyes widened for a second and then there it was, a hint of a smile? Was I doing good?

“Have you ever used Louise airline?”

 _It’s better to lie sometimes, tell people what they want to hear._ Was I supposed to lie here? Was I supposed to be truthful? I was so confused. My gaze was only on Eliott Demaury. The rest of the men on the table seemed so distant. He was also only staring at me. I think he wanted me to be myself in that moment, the stupid guy who always told the truth. “Only when I got hired here. Never before,”

“Thank you, Mr. Lallement,” Demaury responded, motioning for me to leave. I swear he was smirking.

*****

**Thursday 15:30**

Demaury didn’t show up on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. I had two days to wander around his office and look inside the drawers that weren’t locked. He hadn’t altered the office’s original decoration. Almost everything looked fresh. Miss sætre’s office resembled her. Even Arthur’s tiny 4 square meter office was himself in some ways, a crazy frog’s mug – honestly what was the deal with him and that crazy frog—and a photograph of him and his mother. There was also a note from Emma wishing him a good day. “It is the nicest thing she’s ever told me. I will keep it forever to torture her.” And he constantly storied it on his Instagram, tagging Emma each time. That is another story. Back to where I was, yes. Demaury was finally coming to his office after two days.

“Mr. Lallement in my office,” He said, opening the door and stepping in.

I followed immediately, that man was radiating anger.

“Mr. Demaury—“

“Close the door!”

I did and for the first time he yelled. “What were they thinking?”

“sir?”

“It was supposed to work! You were going to tell them you haven’t heard of them and you did. Those bastards thought I set you up! They are taking the campaign to Charles.”

“Who is Charles?”

“Does it matter now?” He shouted, walking towards me like a mad man I should have kept my mouth shut. He hit a chair with his legs, almost roaring.

“Well yes. If you are friends with this Charles it shouldn’t really matter considering you both work under the same name. But I don’t think you are friends,” I mumbled the last part, Mr. Demaury’s face was implying I was speaking too much again.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked.

“No! _I_ did something wrong!”

“Oh thank god!” _PUTAIN!_ _Keep your mouth shut Lucas!_ I swear I could her the ticking of the bomb inside him.

“Mr. Lallement do you understand how serious this situation is?” His hands were shaking as he ran them over his face and hair. 

“If it’s not my fault then why are you yelling at me? I don’t know go—go yell at Charles!”

He marched to me, caging me between himself and the conference table, face close to mine. I leaned back, inching away from him, or as much as I could. He was a panting like an animal suddenly freed from years of torture.

“You manage to walk on every single fucking nerve I have. Even when you do the right thing I still have to go through distress!” He looked at my glasses, my hair and then my—lips.

“They why am I here if I make you infuriated?” my voice was so distant.

“I—I don’t know,” His anger was gone, replaced with an uneasy sense of longing in the tilt of his face.

“Do you want me gone--” I questioned, gasping at the feel of fingers brushing against my hips. He seemed to know he was doing it, his eyes glanced down to where i felt it but it didn't stop. _  
_

“No,” He replied, too quickly. I didn’t even know how to move my muscles anymore. His face was an inch away from mine, so close. I closed my eyes, not even sure what I wanted; for him to lean in more or pull back. I was so disturbed by him, I hated the way he decided to blame me for his own failure but somehow, in some sick way, I didn’t mind it. Though he couldn’t know that. Get a grip of yourself Lucas, oh god—was he breathing into my ear? I realized I was grabbing the table so hard my hands were soaked; I was relishing whatever was to come. _  
_

“Eliott, are you inside?” Someone called and he stepped back in light speed. His eyes were still unfocused, avoiding me and looking at me at the same time. “You—you should leave here Mr. Lallement.”

“Am… Am I fired?” I swallowed, half seated on the table, flushed and panting like a virgin from those Victorian novels Yann secretly read. 

“No—just take tomorrow off. It’s OK.”

I pulled myself together, fixed my glasses to where they were scattered over my face. I jumped off the table as Mr. Demaury opened the door. 

Miss sætre looked so caught up in whatever he wanted to tell Mr. Demaury that she didn’t even notice my state.

Lucky or Unlucky?

*****

**Friday 16:13**

We were having the left-overs from the-Nick-the-neighbor’s cake and to be truthful it was actually tasty. It wasn’t too sweet to be intolerable after two bites. Emma and Arthur were surfing through bunch of DVDs to have _a classic night movie_ before her busy hour.

“What about _The Missionary_ from 80s?” Arthur suggested.

“Fuck off Arthur is that one of your vintage porns?” Emma laughed, taking a sip from her beer.

“Girl please! I have too much class to watch a porn called the missionary, or at least more imagination that that. I borrowed it from Nick. He said it was good,”

“Oh speaking of Nick!” Emma suddenly announced. “He followed Lucas!”

Arthur’s head spun so fast I thought it might break. “He followed Lucas? For real?”

I was not in the mood. I was still thinking about Mr. Demaury’s face so close to mine. It had been so unreal I still think it was a dream, a product of my deprived mind. Perhaps I should have borrowed that missionary movie, whatever it was, give myself some relief.

“So what?”

“Nick follows three people; his mom, Jamie Oliver and Tasty. Now you are added, too!” Arthur went on like a crazy fan girl, even holding up four of his fingers.

“Hey was this Vanilla cake? Oh my God Lucas!” Emma totally screamed. “It was _him?_ ”

“Him? What him?” Arthur asked.

 _Oh God._ She was literally making a romcom in that head of hers and I could see it happening right in front of me. I shook my head as no but she thought I was asking her not to say anything because it was true! _Oh no._

“He likes Lucas! He made the cake for him!” She squealed.

Arthur’s grin was so wide I could swear his cheek muscles were about to get paralyzed after that. That smile would drain the living lie out of them.

“Emma please! It’s not that—“

“Nick is such a kind guy. This February I got the Flu and I swear to you his soups were chef’s kiss!” He kissed the tip of his ensembled fingers. “And he was such a gentleman about it. Totally the type to bring home on holidays!”

“Why don’t you date him yourself?”

“I may or may not have my sight set on someone else,” Arthur shrugged.

“What? Why did you not tell me?” Emma looked seriously offended. “Have some respect boy I made the dinner you’re eating!”

“Emma chips and yogurt is not a dinner,” He defended himself. “Besides what the hell I bought these from store myself!”

“But I was the one who told you to buy them! I am the headmaster here! INTJ!”

One thing that was never tiring was the petty stuff these two fought about. They were a total pair of five-year-older siblings.

“Guys let’s just watch the boring missionary position,” I insisted.

"It's The Missionary, doesn't have position!"

"Yes it does lol!" Emma supplied, giggling.I wanted to join too but I could feel it again. The butterflies were returning to my belly. I was getting super sensitive; Demaury’s face was right in front of me _._

_They why am I here if I make you infuriated?_

_I—I don’t know._

_I believe your job is more important that sightseeing around the parks,_

_You can go now_

_A little bird is putting ideas inside his brain_

Thinking about those words, thinking about his expression, his confidence yet his helplessness, it was so intoxicating. I could day dream about it all day. What would happen if Miss Sætre hadn’t interrupted us? Would he—would he kiss me? Or would he be one of those to get intimate without kissing? Would he back off? Would he drop to his knees there? The image it created; my fucking boss, always in-control, so invested in me he would drop all his rules?

“Dude you OK? You look flushed!” Arthur had been talking to me and I had been zoning out thinking about my boss blowing me.

“I’m sorry I was just thinking about something,”

“Right. How about this one, _30 minutes or less?_ ”

“That one is definitely porn. Judging from the name, it's not even a good one.” I pointed out, receiving a thumbs up from Emma and fuck you from Arthur simultaneously.

*****

**Saturday 12:30**

_Notification @em.brgs sent you Official_Nick_Rodriguez’s story._

I could hear her and Arthur’s giggle from the living room. Jerks.

My body was still wet from shower but I was too lazy to change. I fell back onto my bed, made myself comfortable in my towel and opened the message.

It was a photo of Nick himself, all smiley and adorable, the perfect boyfriend in every mom’s eyes and a poll at the bottom of the page:

_What would you like for me to make tomorrow? Spicy beef or Potato, garlic and spinach salad?_

“Choose the salad! Arthur and I haven’t had some healthy food in so long!” Emma shouted.

It was ludicrous. As if if I chose the salad, he’d make it for me. These two were delusional.

I rolled me eyes, choosing the salad and to absolute no surprise, only 13 percent of the votes wanted it.

“Sorry but my vote doesn’t count for shit when it’s against the majority!”

“We’ll see!” Arthur answered this time.

And yes. They had obviously opened the poll before me. It was a test to see who would Nick choose, his fans or some random dude that called him Cake boy. It was pretty easy.

What wasn’t easy was my recent obsession with thinking about Mr. Demaury. It was constantly deteriorating. It had gone from ‘what the hell happened’ to ‘when the hell was it going to happen again’.

I looked like a helpless loser, lying in bed, hands neatly crossed on my chest, doing absolutely nothing except biting my lips to keep me from smiling wider. Maybe I shouldn’t be smiling. Maybe he was using me. But using me for what? I had already cost him 8.5 million dollar in three weeks. If he wasn’t into me, there were only two other scenarios. _One_ , he was one of those rich kids who hated their daddy but he couldn’t harm his legacy freely, so he needed a cover; me. _Two_ , he had some deep issues with himself. He liked to hurt and humiliate himself and he was using me as tool. Both of them meant he was taking advantage of me for his own benefit.

I checked my phone to see if he had messaged me. None.

*****

**Monday 14:00**

I had just given Mr. Demaury his second coffee of the day. He had been colder than north pole; his chair back to me so I could only see the back of his messy hair. I could get a glimpse of his grey suit but nothing else. He just gave a thank you, subtext means get lost. I should have been glad. I was not walking on eggshells for the first time. But was I feeling satisfaction?

I was so bored. I had absolutely nothing to do except review and review Mr. Demaury’s schedule. It was so monotonous, a rendezvous, a dinner with shareholders, a meeting, dinner, meeting, dinner. There were two conferences and a trip to Norway, but it wasn’t until the New year’s eve. Didn’t he have a family, a significant other or just friends who wanted to spend the holidays with him?

If he had given me a smile in the morning, I would feel sad for him but with that attitude he deserved not having friends.

“Hey Lucas!” I lifted my head, Arthur was giving me the goofiest look ever. “You wouldn’t believe me!”

“Are you getting fired? I’d believe that.”

“What? No!” He was so ecstatic even my sarcasm wasn’t working. Suspicious.

“Then what?”

“Nick literally just uploaded his video. He made a potato salad. He even messaged me, asked me if we wanted some!” He cheerfully sat down on my desk.

“What are you upset about? You wanted it.”

“No no you don’t get me. Emma and I voted for beef. He is so into you that he doesn’t even care we wanted the other thing. And he’s made more than two bowls! He made too much on purpose! You should totally see the video!”

I smiled at that. I may like my boss—erase that, a little infatuated with him, but he was such a narcissist. I had talked to Nick for two minutes. But if anything, he was serious about liking me. He was romantic. He made cooking videos on YouTube; _Demaury could never_. Well to fuck with Demaury.

I shrugged, pulled out my phone and followed Nick back. “There, I’m following him. Are you happy now?”

“Not until I’ve sent you on a date!”

“Arthur! Take one day at a time,“ I groaned

“Fine. Fine! I leave you to it!”

He was not three meters away when he called someone. “Emma he did it!”

I chuckled. These two were really going to play matchmaker for me.

“Mr. Lallement, would you mail me my weekend schedule?” Demaury's voice was so dead from behind the line.

I pressed one. “Sure,”


	4. So I haven’t done this in a while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this one :))))

**Monday 19:35**

These two were getting out of hand. Nick had his biggest fans right under his feet—literally. Emma and Arthur were already planning our baby shower! They were so celibate their only goal was getting me into a relationship. It’s not like I wasn’t interested; it was that I was unfortunately interested in _someone else._ I had watched a pair of Nick’s videos. He was hands down one of the best boyfriend-materials out there. He was patient, caring and good-natured. Most importantly, he was a walking cooking book. Gosh, what was wrong with me? I should be happy a guy like him was interested in me. I was not going to be one of those people who'd only chase assholes in hope of changing them. Trust me, I had seen many of those relationships and they always ended in misery. And whose misery? The stupid lovesick one who wanted to change the asshole.

It was not my job to be anyone’s redemption, it was theirs.

So when my friends begged me to open the door for Nick and invite him in, I accepted. I was supposed to appear nicer now, I don’t know how the hell that would mean to him if I was suddenly acting all friendly. Emma and Arthur didn't care though, they were hiding in her bedroom giggling like first-graders who mocked other first graders for talking to someone they liked. _Lucas and Nick sitting on a tree bluh bluh_

“I can still hear you. I’m pretty sure he can, too!” I groaned at them.

“That’s your problem, solve it!”

“How is that my problem Emma you two lived here before I did. You chose a house with the thinnest walls in town I swear I can hear Arthur wanking some nights and I really rather be--“

They burst in laughter. Where was dignity these days.

_*New Message. From Arrogant Loser_

_“Call me.”_

Myocardial infraction.

I couldn’t even finish what I was saying to Arthur. Why? Because my boss had said a sentence. That was a two-word sentence. _Call me._ It wasn’t call me please or call me if you have time, it was call me. It was so demanding in its simplicity and I was aching reply. I was so one of those lovesick idiots who wanted the asshole. I was almost calling him when the door-bell rang.

The two traitors squealed in the bedroom, causing me to turn crimson. They were so loud; I was completely sure Nick already heard them. I pushed my phone deep on my back pocket. I would call Mr. Demaury the second this play was over.

I opened the door, this time facing a much groomed Nick. His hair was still curly and slightly messy but he looked great, like really great. “Oh Hi,” He said, instantly standing sharper. “I didn’t know you were still here,”

“Well I live here,” I replied, teasing him.

“No I meant at the door,”

“I haven’t waited by the door since the last time if that’s what you mean,”

Poor dude looked like he was going to run and live under a rock. “My room’s closest to the door,” I decided to go easy on him for a second. "Please come,"

“It won’t be necessary. I won’t bother,” He offered me the bowl full of Potato salad. His eyes however, kept flashing between me and the tiny living room. He was dying to come in.

“Please. I was so rude last time. The least I could do is offer you a cup of coffee,”

His eyes sparkled, following me inside.

“They are getting married!”

Arthur. I was going to kill him. I quickly glanced at Nick to see if he’d noticed anything. He didn’t seem to; he was smiling at me. 

***** 

**Tuesday 10:07**

I pressed one. “Mr. Demaury I just wanted to remind you about the meeting with a Mrs. Leighton from _Association._ It was rescheduled yesterday morning. She insisted it to be today at 10:30,”

It was not even been ten minutes past that when he was yelling at me to get inside. It was getting ridiculous. What had I done this time?

I sheepishly stepped inside, a poor excuse of a Garfield smile on my face. He was sitting on his desk, arms crossed and looking like Lucifer’s love child.

“Sir?”

“Why are you telling me about the reschedule now?”

“But I did. I emailed it to you, yesterday, right before you left.”

“Mr. Lallement I don’t check my emails ten times a day. Besides I was right here, why did you not tell me in person?” He jumped off the desk, walking to the mini bar to pour himself a glass of – was that vodka? It was 10 a.m.

“Becaseyouwereignoringme,” It was so fast even I didn’t hear it all.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” I quickly corrected myself. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call you yesterday. I was going to but something came up. I sincerely apologize,”

This time it was him who seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. His eyebrows knitted. “What do you mean?”

“About your text. You told me to call you.”

His eyes widened for a second, then he took a sip from his drink. He seemed furious. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him.

I was really exhausted in trying to figure out what did he want all the time.

“May I leave now?”

He nodded. Right when I was about to close the door he said, “Don’t wear that red cardigan anymore,”

I hadn’t even noticed I were.

*****

**Thursday 15:34**

_New message, Yann._

_LOL Are you dating someone already?_

_You: wth what are you talking about_

_Yann: Arthur even sent me a pic. He’s handsome. Better than your usual ones._

Like hell you should see my boss. Everyone’s a five compared to him.

_You: Are you for real? He’s turning into second Emma and I’m scared._

_Yann: HEHEHE. Is he a good guy? I don’t want you dating any more assholes._

_You: I’m done dating selfish men I promise. And nothing’s serious. I’d tell you if it were._

_Yann: Don’t even think about evading me kid I have two spies there._

I put my phone aside, checked to see if anyone was nearby before googling “I think I like my boss”. It was mostly reddit results; people thirsting over their bosses. I decided to change my search a little. “Signs your boss likes you.” oops. There were many of them. I chose one randomly. The only one out of the sixteen mentioned signs he had was him getting touchy with me. But that was like the biggest sign, right? I don’t know. I was so confused. I mean his text was right there. _Call me._ What did it mean? Did he—it was highly unlikely but did he drunk text me?

The thought of it was pretty alluring; him, drunk and devastated and only texting me.

But maybe he had the wrong number.

Maybe he wanted to discuss something and he had too much of an ego to admit he sent the first text. But he was my boss. Like he was supposed to send the first texts to let me know what was going on.

UGH! MY MIND WAS ON THE VERY EDGE OF EXPLODING!

*****

**Friday 17:30**

The elevator’s door opening caught me off-guard. It was pretty early for Mr. Demaury to leave the company. He started his days early but I had heard from here and there sometimes he worked until midnight. It was a pretty respectable thing to do but if you ask me workaholics had worse skins. Even if Demaury’s face was flawless, ten more years of night working and his pretty eyes would be lost under wrinkles.

I took a glimpse of his eyes, keeping my head low and only moving my eyes; the last thing I desired was getting caught staring at him. He did have wrinkle, but not much. It even added to his charm. How lucky one has to be for wrinkles to enhance their face? Back home my friend Manon used FaceApp to make me old and ever since then I had some major age phobia issues.

My phone vibrated in my hands; Unknown number. Again.

“Hello?” I answered.

“ _Hi. It’s Nick,”_ The volume was a little up, but I didn’t bother tuning it down. I saw the way Mr. Demaury’s body tensed. Did he care?

“Hey,” I answered. You know, the long exaggerated ‘hey’ you say when your crush’s on the phone. I just wanted to mess with Demaury. “How’d you get number?”

“ _It wasn’t so tough,_ ” He chuckled. Demaury almost, almost turned around.

“I let you slip by this time. What’s up?”

_“About the coffee the other day, I was wondering if you’d like to continue it,”_

“I’d love that, how about tomorrow night?”

And Mr. Demaury didn’t even bother with a goodbye, just left the elevator at a super speed.

Change that google search boy, how to make my boss jealous.

*****

**Saturday 20:12**

“I hope this wasn’t hard to find,” Nick offered to help me out of my jacket. I was in an ecstatic mood since Mr. Demaury’s jealous baby attitude and besides, Chivalry was always a confident booster. “I like it here. It’s not too luxury yet not too crowded," 

I looked around the diner. It was a quiet place; a soft jazz music playing while cars drove by. I had a nice view from where I was sitting. “It’s great.”

Nick sat in front of me, his black hair combed neatly and slick, almost like a slick mob boss from a 40s movie. He was way too nervous. Jesus how much did this guy like me?

The waitress didn’t waste a second, taking our order and then wishing us a lovely night.

“So I haven’t done this in a while,”

“Eating? I don’t believe that, considering your career,” I teased.

He smiled. “No. I mean dating. Filming and editing pretty much takes all my time. But it’s nice.” He shrugged. He was fidgeting his sleeves, eyes avoiding me. “I’ve just had my channel for about a year. Before that I actually worked in a real kitchen,”

“Really? What happened?”

“Nothing dramatic. I couldn't make ends meet”

I nodded. I kept glancing at my phone, at the door, at the windows. For some reason I was waiting for something, for someone. I knew I was being too dramatic but I had this inevitable feeling in my guts that Mr. Demaury would act dramatic about this. He had to.

“…and yes, that was pretty much it. Tell me about yourself. How is life In Paris?”

Oh shit. What did he say? If I wasn’t interested in him romantically, I didn’t have to be a jerk. I decided to give him some general information; That I lived with two other people, much less annoying and immature than Emma and Arthur, that I worked in Mika’s Bar and a library at the same time and what my hobbies were. The “This is my boring life but I make it sound cool” talk didn’t last very long. Nick was telling me about Tijuana and Mexico, about how much he also missed home when his phone rang. He ignored it for the first time but when it rang the second time, I encouraged him to take it.

“I am truly sorry,” He said after hanging up. The entire call didn’t even last ten twelve seconds but left him quite distressed and shaky. “But my sister just had an accident. I don’t even—She’s in hospital right now.”

I didn’t think he was lying. Poor man was the very face of dismay. It was just coincidence. “It’s OK. I’m pretty sure she needs you more than I possibly could right now,” I reassured him, hugging him before he fled off.

The waitress gave me a pitiful look once she brought the dinner for two but realized I was now one. I ate in silence, mostly disappointed about Eliott Demaury’s silence that Nick’s sudden Departure.

*****

**Saturday 21:30**

The walk home didn’t take long. Our block was usually quiet at this time. I put my headphone on and walked leisurely, not bothering to anywhere except a head. Sometime in the road I received a text message from Nick. His sister only suffered from a minor cut on her leg. She had been really sorry about all the trouble she’d caused once she learned Nick had been on a date. I told him it’s fine, then texted Yann to let him know the date had gone well.

Nick wasn’t responsible for his sister’s reckless driving.

I had reached the stairs of apartment when something in the corner caught my eye. I could not believe my eyes. It seemed like a hallucination. I blinked rapidly a few times, even pinched my side but no. Right in front of my apartment, on the other side of the street, a black BMW was parked. Its windows were down with a man sitting in the driver’s seat. He was in a black coat with its collar almost up to his cheeks. But I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

We locked eyes and I could barely keep my keys from falling from my grasp. It was him; Mr. Demaury at my door. All night this had been what I craved; for him to magically jump at my feet and steal me away but now that it was happening I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Should I ignore him? Should I walk up to him and ask him what was his sadistic deal?

I did neither. I stood there like a stature. He rolled up the window and took off.

*****

**Sunday 13:45**

The house was strangely quiet. Emma was asleep the minute launch was over, Arthur was busy with his laptop. I could hear him typing. He cursed every few seconds in-between; He even cursed at me, because I was doing nothing and he was there towing his entire group of co-workers. “These people will give me a personality disorder in less than a year, I have to switch departments. Fuck you Lucas.”

I didn’t know how it was even relevant to me.

I also decided to do a bit of searching myself, Googling Eliott Demaury again. He had to be more than two pictures on the internet. I even dug into the page 10 of google articles; nothing. There was, however, a link related to Vincent Demaury; his father. I had seen his name in the company enough to know he almost owned the Agency. He wasn’t the CEO in anyway, but his signature was necessary under any paper.

Mr. Demaury may not be found on the Internet but his father even had a Wikipedia. He seemed even colder than him. He was a shareholder in three more companies, all of them in Europe. He had been named in Forbes’ magazine list of most influential people in Europe more than three times. He also only had one child. Now I could understand the pressure Mr. Demaury was so agitated all the time; It was difficult to carry all these legacy, to make his father proud.

There was also his mother; only the slightest of mentions. She had died a few years ago, a few months before those graduation pictures of him in Paris. He probably couldn’t even be with her. For a second I felt really sad for Mr. Demaury. I was not the perfect example of family goals but one could sympathize.

I grabbed my phone, didn’t even mind the time difference before dialing my mom.

“Hello? Mom, I missed you,”

And we talked for almost an hour, about how I found the life in states, Emma and Arthur and their troubles, a caring neighbor who cooked for us sometimes and my job. I told her I had an affable boss who cared about me—I didn’t want to make her concerned. When she asked me if I was seeing any American boy, I chuckled and replied with a simple no.

*****

**Monday 10:30**

“He hasn’t arrived yet?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Alaoui but no. I even texted him but he hasn’t replied.”

He pouted, face scrunching in nervousness. “Call me Sofiane, please. It’s just—Today was the deadline for Louise airline campaign selection. They were supposed to choose between ours and Charles’ ideas. With Eliott not even being present, I think it won’t be a difficult decision. Can you call him again?”

He was pacing about the room, pouting and calling Mr. Demaury again and again. I offered him a glass of water but he refused politely, sighing before calling again.

“Lucille. It’s Me, Sofiane,” Silence. “No, It’s Elliot. Is he— he’s not answering his phone. I’m really worried.” Silence again. “No? Ok. Ok. Take care.”

Just when Sofiane left the lobby, gathering the rest of his crew with him to the conference room. They came out ten minutes later, all shoulders hunched and expressions sorrowful.

*****

**Monday 11:30**

I heard his footsteps before I saw him. It was one of those days, wasn’t it. “In my office,” He said, violently banging the door.

This was it. I was going to confront him about his behavior. Who was he to constantly blame for everything?

I furiously followed him, entering his office and shutting the door behind me. He hadn’t even made it to his table with his ridiculously big room. “Sir, you can’t treat me like this,”

“Like what? A little clamor is the least you deserve for the irresponsible behavior you've performed whilst working here.” His voice was calmer than I expected but his eyes were red with anger.

“I have done nothing this time yet you choose to blame me for anything that goes slightly wrong!” I tried to sound polite and not raise my voice. I think I was successful, at least to my ears.

“Really? Why didn’t I remember today’s meeting then?”

“You did sir. You even asked me to e-mail a copy of your work to the rest of the team.”

He sighed, taking off his coat. I was looking at him right now but all I could see was his face from two nights ago, how pained he’d looked, how lost.

“I didn’t say you didn’t tell me,” He answered. And gosh, I was really lost. What did I do again?

“Lock the door Mr. Lallement.”

“Sir?”

“lock it!”

I huffed, obeying him.

I kept my posture uninterrupted, standing close to the door and staring straight into his eyes. He jumped off his table, strolling towards me. I could see he wasn’t as clean shaven as always. There also a cut on the side of his right eyebrow. I ignored it, doing my best to resist getting intimated. “You are so shameless, Mr. Lallement,” He loosened his tie. “All day playing the warm-hearted clumsy college boy who wants to be the best version of himself and you have already obliterated almost nine million dollars, directly from me.”

“I already apologized for that,”

“Your apology didn’t convince me. Did you convince yourself?”

I swallowed rather audibly. Where was this going?

“No,” I found myself whispering. “I didn’t.”

He was right before me now. But unlike the last time I had no idea what would happen. I could feel my hands getting sweaty, my mouth getting dry.

He tilted his face, studying me. “You keep causing trouble,” He murmured, face impossibly close to mine. I had to crane my neck all the way to be able to see his eyes. “You are absolutely horrible at your job,” He continued, now caging me between himself and door again. His words weren’t rude, or even mean. He was just being honest but somehow they seemed so out of this world. “And you make you so frustrated,” He was once again right next to my ear. “So fucking much,” He punctuated the middle word. I realized I had closed my eyes, tilting my neck for him. His lips were completely on my ear lobe. It was so erotic: I didn’t even know how to react. “Maybe I should let you go,” It was his hands on my hips now, gripping my shirt tightly. “But I have a feeling you wouldn’t want that, would you?” He was speaking right into my ear, right into it. It was like even the air was not allowed to listen to it. I bit my lips when asked me again, “Hm?” I shook my hand, no longer in control of myself. I could smell him this close, that cologne, himself, a hint of alcohol and sweat. I never wanted him to step back.

“You’ve been here for how long, a month? Already found a boyfriend? He didn’t even walk you home after your first date,”

“You’d walk me home?” It was so bold, to address him with a simple you. I didn’t think he minded though, He just smirked, pulling back slightly look at my face. I couldn’t even open my eyes completely, my gaze hazy and unfocused. My lids were too numb to lift themselves. I followed his face, wanting him back where he was, needing him back there. The air was already hitting the side of my neck, making it cold and me shiver.

“I’d take you back to my place,” He promised, splaying his hands over the small of my back. “And keep you there for the entire night,”

_Oh God._

I fisted my fingers into his collar, pulling him to me. I wasn’t even me, I was someone else, something else. He was staring right into my eyes. I don’t know who made the first move, but the next thing I knew was Mr. Demary’s lips on mine. I didn’t even let one second pass before purring into the kiss. My knees were pretty much jelly, I would fall without him holding me.

His lips were so soft. They tasted slightly bitter but it suited him. That was all I could figure out in less than two seconds because during the next minutes he was not kissing me like a nervous kid, he was tasting my entire soul. It made bonfire in my belly go wild. He even took a hold of me forearms and guided them over his shoulders.

I couldn’t even deny him. I wrapped my arm around his neck.

He kissed me, sucked my lower lip into his mouth, taking so much.

I was expecting him to regret it each second, therefore I clung to him with more ferocity. I didn’t ever want to stop feeling him against my body.

“Shhhh,” He shushed me and god, was I moaning? I never moaned during kisses, especially the ones where I still had my clothes on. “Be quiet. We don’t wanna be heard, hm?”

I nodded, holding onto his face and kissing him again. This time however, he quickly moved onto my neck, sucking and kissing whatever skin he found there. I gave him as much as I could, biting my lips so hard I was sure it’d turn purple. I was only human after all, and once I felt his hands in my pants I couldn’t keep it quiet. He didn’t voice a protest this time, sliding his hands under my boxers and grabbing my erection in his hands. His eyes were fixed on mine as he touched me. His grip was so confident, so strong but not painful.

“Look at me,” I did, panting into his face. “Keep looking at me,” It was getting too much. Too much too soon. He kissed me leisurely. I, mostly gasping into his mouth. His other hand was securely on my lower back, supporting me fully.

"Is this what you wanted, Mr. Lallement?" He asked into my mouth, moving his hands faster. "Teasing me with your boy? Is this what you wanted?" 

I bit my lips, nodding frantically. He kissed me again, this time angrier, pouring all his frustrations into it.

After a minute I couldn’t even keep the kissing going on, looking away from him as I spilled into my pants. For the few seconds after I didn’t care about that happened. I just happily searched for Mr. Demaury’s face to kiss him. He allowed me. I pressed my body to his, feeling his arousal on my thighs. I grinded against it a few times, making him kiss me much deeper. He maneuvered us away from the door so were standing right in the middle of the room.

Just when I was about to fall on my knees he stepped back. “I have a meeting with Charles,” His voice to unaffected. I was sure mine would be much hoarser. It wasn’t fair. Wait—what did he say?

“Don’t step outside looking like that,” He grabbed a tissue from his desk, wiped his hands and unlocked the door. All the while I was holding on to my pants.

No more words. He just left.

I looked at the state of me; shirt half-open, pants falling, hair wild and blushing all over my head and neck.

What did I do?


	5. I probably looked pathetic, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I have some exams coming up so I might upload less often for some time. Sorry but this whole COVID-19 situation really messed up with this semester it's STILL not finished ;'(  
> p.s. Nick and Lucas are watching Knives Out here.

**Monday 21:04**

_♪I’m so into you I can barely breathe♪_

Normally I’d be caught dead listening to top chart pop songs but now… nothing was normal now.

“Lucas would you turn down the volume?” Arthur called from the couch. It was my turn to wash the dishes and so far I had nothing done. My mind kept betraying me. 1400 grams of brain had never let me down that much, not even during studying physics for my BAC. My fingers were like all flesh and no bone: they couldn’t hold a plate for longer than two seconds without it almost dropping.

I just couldn’t restrain my treacherous mind from thinking about it. Mr. Demaury’s face, his sculpted mythical face so close to mine. Those lips on mine, his stormy eyes focused on nothing else in this world but me. _I’d take you back to my place and keep you there for the entire night, look at me—_ it had been so erotic that I had to bite my lips even thinking about it.

I placed the plates down. I even closed my eyes thinking about it. He was so serious, his frown causing his forehead to wrinkle a bit, the angle of his jaw as he kissed me because I had been so awestruck to close my eyes fully. I was pretty certain I got off from the way he was handling me more than the way he was touching me.

_♪A little bit dangerous but baby that’s how I want it ♪_

OK that song was cruel to me now. That’s exactly how I wanted him, _♪a little bit scandalous.♪_

“Lucas what the fuck?” Arthur marched in the kitchen, didn’t even bother hiding his anger as he turned off the radio.

“Hey!” I protested.

“I’m pretty sure the entire neighborhood heard it!”

I hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re all flushed, you fine?” He raised his eyebrows, suspiciously glimpsing at the sink, noting I hadn’t washed a single spoon. “Are you alright?”

My phone vibrated from my pocket. I quickly opened it.

*Missed call: Arrogant Loser

“yeah I’m fine,” That was too quick. My voice sounded too breathless.

He threw me an assessing look, longer than usual. “I do it tonight but the next time It’s my turn it’s my turn my groceries you’re doing them,”

I quickly nodded, I seriously needed to lay down right now. 

*****

**Tuesday 8:36**

What are you supposed to do after your boss gave you the hottest Hand job you’ve ever had in your life? Were you supposed to play it cool, pretend it never happened (boy as if that was possible) or act a little flintier, see if he’s really interested or it was a one-time occasion?

So what. People had sex in the workplace. During the time I was working for Mika there was this bartender who had slept with anyone who ever worked there except me. He was pretty chill about it. He ended having Gonorrhea but still, he was an example. And then there was Yann, who had sex with his co-worker. He said it was a one-time thing and even though they had tried to remain as they were, the tension was so awkward and he’d eventually quit.

I had two choices here; either I’d act cool and easy or make everything awkward.

My first pay would be this very Thursday, and I really needed it for the rent and also my mom’s medication. I couldn’t risk it, not at all.

Mr. Demaury nodded at me, his usual hello. Was it so hard to open his mouth and say ‘hello’? how self-centered he was! I had spent ten extra minutes fixing my hair today and all I got was a nod? Fuck him. If he wanted to stay the same heartless bastard, then fine. _Game on._

*****

**Wednesday 12:32**

Over the course of next week, I did my literal best to ignore Mr. Demaury. He almost, _almost,_ kept up. He probably didn’t expect my sudden defense; he wanted me to get all clingy and needy, but hey, it wasn’t the first time I was playing and he wasn’t the first man in my life. I was not that easy of a catch.

On Tuesday, I placed his coffee with my usual ‘Good morning Sir’ on his desk. I couldn’t appear too indifferent all of a sudden. He thanked me. I didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

On Wednesday we reviewed one of his presentations, I helped him choose a color for a poster theme, nothing much. But the electricity that charged me up in hear proximity was so much more than ordinary. He was sitting in his luxury leather chair, a pen dancing between his first and middle finger as he invited me inside. I walked to his desk, flushing a little. He rolled his chair slightly, asking me which set of posters I’d prefer as a costumer; a dusty pink color for a mini eau de toilette or a light sheen of pistachio green. Since his laptop was placed at the center of his desk, I couldn’t see much. I wanted to tell him this but I noticed he was looking at me, too intentional. He was smirking, enjoying how uptight I seemed. I leaned down, keeping my legs glued where they were, I didn’t want to be to close to him.

He raised his eyebrows, challenging me. “I personally prefer pink,”

“Why is that?” He voiced out.

“The bottle has some glitter in it, as you can see—“

“I can not,”

“It’s right there—“

“Please be specific,”

This bastard. I placed my notebook on the table and leaned down more, almost bending on his desk. I stretched my palm, asking for that annoying pen in his hand. He had an inscrutable half-dumbfounded expression. Yet he offered it to me. I angrily pointed to the picture of the perfume bottle. “There, you see now? They also have a tint of white in them. I think light pink would emphasize it. Also silver would be nice,” I caught him in my peripheral vision; his attention was not on the screen; it was fixed on the curve my body had created. I had not even noticed but obviously he had. Even despite the fact that I was silent and looking at him, he didn’t stop his prying eyes. They slowly lifted from my butt, my waist, my back until they landed on my eyes.

“No silver,” He said. “They insists I give them something new,”

“New?”

“Something they haven’t experienced before, simple, unforgettable yet quite unpredictable.” He ran his lips over his bottom lips. “That’s how I prefer it, too,” He wasn’t talking about the damned bottle. I was certain he wasn’t. I could envision it in my head, I could see it all happening in front me. Him, kissing me again. I, coming undone just from his words and barely his hands.

I quickly pulled myself back from his desk. “Pink is better, especially lighter,” I stuttered.

The side of his lips lifted. “Then pink it is,”

*****

**Thursday 10:35**

I wasn’t short. I really wasn’t. At least half of the population were shorter than me when it came to statistics; It was just that a lot of those half weren’t working on this specific floor. And a problem that comes with ridiculously tall people is placing everything out of reach—well out of reach for me.

“You need a little help with that, Mr. Lallement?”

I didn’t even turn around. “I can do it!” I answered, standing on my right tiptoe and reaching as far as I could with my left arm. In the end I gave up, shrugging as I turned to my boss. He was leaning back on the couch next to his desk, a pack of cigarettes in his hand.

He raised his eyebrows in victory. “You need my help?”

“Technically you need your help, sir. You wanted those papers, not me.”

“Is that why I’m paying you, Lallement?” He lit a cigarette, rising to his feet. He looked much less formal that day; no suits, no tie, just a light grey shirt and tailored pants. It made me wonder once again, how old was he? 20, 30? Perhaps even 40? He took a drag off his cigarette, exhaled a smoke of cloud and stood before me. “To tell me what I need, or to provide me with it?”

“I have to know what you need in order to offer it to you,”

“A good secretary figures those out in advance,” He was amused by this, the glint of playfulness back o his face.

“You told me I’m horrible at this job,” I replied, sounding too bold compared to how loud my heart was beating in his proximity.

He just chuckled, standing beside me to reach for the folder; not confining me. He gently placed the folder in my hands. “Maybe you are getting better,”

*****

**Friday 17:35**

It was a one-time thing. Mr. Demaury enjoyed the flirtation that was obvious. But he wasn’t going to do anything. I didn’t know whether it was a satisfying news or not. On one hand it meant I could learn to forget what happened; on the other hand, my mind didn’t have mercy on me. It kept replaying that day over and over again, each time more desperately. I would see new details, hear more, feel more. I couldn’t think about his voice without popping a boner and it was getting out of hand.

If I was a one-time thing, then fuck it. Why should I waste my time on it?

The second I got off the bus, I grabbed my phone, texted Nick, asked him if he wanted to hang out.

As you guessed it, my reply came in less than five minutes.

*****

**Friday 19:57**

“We can change it if you want,” Nick suggested. He was already half-way through a movie when I arrived and I really wasn’t in the mood to discuss movie choices. He began to tell me the summary of a plot. Any other situation and I might have been interested but right now no. Nick was very passionate about the movie; he had even guessed who the murderer was.“Look at him! He’s too confident. He also acted very strange when she told him about the night grandpa Harlan was dead. I’m pretty certain he's behind it all—“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence because I bounced on him, straddling his hips in such an unexpected movie he dropped the popcorn he was holding. I searched his eyes for a sign of refusal, anything to make me question myself, too. His eyes were too dark, no way the icy blue ones I craved. His face was too friendly, too honest, _too caring._ I would not be doing him injustice if I’d forget Mr. Demaury. Perhaps this was the way. Nothing serious was going on between my boss and I, I could forget him in time.

“Is this okay?” I asked Nick.

“More than,” He smiled, then leaned me up and kissed me. It didn’t give the lighting and thunder tingles Mr. Demaury’s kiss had but it made me feel worthy. Despite Nick responding in earnest, he was still a gentleman. He didn’t involve his tongue in the kiss until I opened my mouth, He didn’t let his hands wander under my t-shirt until I placed it there.

“Nick. It’s fine,” I giggled in-between the kisses. “Just do what you like,”

I grinded on him. He stopped me. “I—don’t you think we’re moving too fast? I think your mind is elsewhere,” He reasoned, caressing the side of my face. His hands smelled like spaghetti sauce, not like tobacco and expensive vodka bottles. Nick was completely accurate; my mind was elsewhere. My mind was overwhelmed. Maybe I should stop. _maybe you are getting better_ Mr. Demaury’s smug face came into my mind. Who was he to mock me like that?

“Do you think we’re moving fast?”

“Jesus—It’s not that—I really like you. I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to be just some _almost_ you talk about to your friends in a few years,”

I nodded, kissing him again. He turned his face. “Lucas—“

“You’re probably right. I’m sorry,” I babbled, standing up in a hurry to leave. I had shamed myself enough; there was no use in making poor Nick feel maltreated.

“Lucas, wait!”

I didn’t. I just closed the door and retreated.

*****

**Friday 22:45**

I was pathetic. I probably looked pathetic, too. I was wearing Emma’s worn-out jacket, my old sneakers with a bottle of beer in my hand walking in some street I didn’t even know the name of. When did I turn into such a douche? Nick was one of the kindest people I had ever met. He really cared about me, in return what did I do? I decided to take advantage of him.

I almost cried at my own stupidity. I was twenty fucking four years old. I was no longer a 15-year older freshman falling in love with the first guy I see. I had had two boyfriends. I had plenty of sex. Why would some self-centered prick make me feel so confused? My phone vibrated.

_*Notification: 2 Missed calls: Nick_

_*New message, Arrogant lose_ r:

_Where are you?_

I smirked bitterly. What did he want me to say?

_You: out._

_Arrogant loser: would you please be more specific?_

_You: No._

My phone rang. He was calling me. Why was he calling me?

“Hello?”

_“Where are you?”_

“I—I don’t know,”

_“What do you mean?”_

“I mean I don’t know where I am. But I have a GPS so I’m not lost.”

_“OK,”_

“why did you—hello? Sir?”

Did he seriously hang up on me? Why did he even call in the first place?

I noticed anther notification, from Emma’s Instagram. She had posted a story asking everyone if they’ve met me and her jacket, tagging a page for lost clothes. It was a funny and cute.

The question was how did Mr. Demaury get her Instagram? Was he stalking me? I Had to confront him, once and for real.

*****

**Monday 8:17**

I breathed in, out. Inhale, exhale. I could do this. Mr. Demaury wasn’t a monster. I knocked on his door. “Sir?”

“Come in,”

I closed the door behind me, walking to Mr. Demaury who was standing by his window. The building next to us was undergoing some constriction and he was following it with a frivolous attention. “Sir, I think we should talk,”

He turned around, eyes widening for a second when he saw me. Maybe I did have something on my hair or face. I didn’t touch up though, didn’t want to seem dominated by him.

“I’m listening,”

“I don’t know why you called me Friday night. I also don’t know why you sent me that text asking me to call you and denying it all after. Yet I ask you to respect me as your employee and only contact me when there is—“ God I was babbling. He was staring at me with such a piercing gaze I was sacred to hold his eye contact. “a professional matter.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,”

“You’re asking me to treat you like I treat everyone else? According to the office protocols? Deal with you like I am a zombie and your value to me is the same as some vase?” He raised his right eyebrow in an are-you-sure question. Fucker.

“Yes. If you excuse me now,” I turned on my heel, already aiming for the door.

“If you leave this room right now Lucas I’ll be exactly what you asked me to be.”

My hand froze on the knob. _If._ What a strong word that made right now. Two letters, a world of difference between what I desired and I what I just asked him _. You’re asking me to treat you like I treat everyone else? like I am a zombie?_

Until a second ago I was adamant I was not going to retreat from my decision. I deserved to be treated fairly; I deserved that. But him, _oh dieu_ , his kisses, his voice, his voice on that voice message. I just couldn’t let go of those.

I didn’t rotate that knob; I couldn’t convince myself not to. I spun before I know if, ran to Mr. Demaury and pulled him down in a kiss. He reciprocated immediately; hands winding around my waist and pulling me to him. This is what kiss was supposed to be; all instinct, taking control of all my brain, all my body. I was already into this deep; I couldn’t imagine abandoning it. Maybe another version of me in a parallel universe was strong enough to leave this office but that wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me. He ended up hoisting me up, make my belly into a bowl of lava, then setting me on the edge of his table. There was no shyness here, no gentleness and I really preferred that at the moment. He bit my lips before talking. “Whenever I see you in this color I just can’t control myself,”

 _Oh._ The Red cardigan. That’s why he didn’t want me wearing it?

“ _Ouis?_ I have to wear it more often then,” I said playfully.

He grabbed my chin in his fingers. “Are you teasing me, Mr. Lallement?”

He was insanely hot in that moment, hair a mess, collar slightly uncoordinated, a little bossy. I bit my lips, just wanting him on me right now. “Maybe,”

“No-one does that,”

“Then it’s about time we change that,”

He groaned, devouring my mouth again. He was soon unbuttoning my jeans, helping me lift up to get them around my knees. He was about to go on his knees when I pulled him into the kiss again. As much as the idea of him like that aroused me I was not sure if I’d last more than the last time. He was so experienced; so perfectly remarkable. I wanted to last as much I was able to.

He seemed dazzled in lust enough to let go of that—for two minutes.

“I want to taste you,” he murmured huskily into my ear, groping at my sides and thighs. “Been thinking about it since I saw you,”

I nodded like a tamed pet, not finding it in me to deny him. Denying him at this point would be denying myself. He eagerly went down in front me, pulling my boxers down and scenting my erection the second it was freed. The sight was too much; I closed my eyes immediately. Thank god he didn’t order to me to look at him this time; he was too occupied. I pulled at his hair when I felt his mouth engulfing me. He didn’t tease, no. He just started sucking since the first second. “Oh god,” I gasped when he pulled me more forward to himself, my butt almost falling from the edge of the desk. He made a voice between a hum and a laugh. I abandoned his hair to take a hold of the desk’s edges; supporting my weakening muscles.

He sucked harder, caressing my thighs and belly all the while, breathing so deep It almost convinced me maybe I did smell better than the thousand-dollar perfume he was wearing. I stifled my moans with all the dignity I had left, getting closer and closer as he sucked harder; His mouth was too warm, too wet, he was also using his tongue—I would not last. I would—“Mr. Demaury, I am going to--”

He hummed, locking eyes with me and that was all it took me. Even the Winnie Pooh boxers I had bought at a dollar store didn’t make it ridiculous; it actually made it hotter for some fucked-up reason. My breath hitched and I came. Not to my surprise, he swallowed the entire thing. He traveled up my flaccid body, standing in front of me with a feral look. He didn’t even ask for my opinion as he reversed me. I was still experiencing the last of my orgasmic state, I was too pliant to fight him. We were flushed together from head to toe as I felt him undoing his own tailored pants, freeing his erection right behind me. I didn’t even bother to stifle my moan this time, pushing back against him.

He started grinding against me in fast and irregular moves, holding onto my hips for dear life. “Fuck I don’t know what to do with you,” he panted. I was really glad for the construction going outside the window; else everyone would have already heard us. I rolled my head back onto his shoulder, guiding him to tilt his head enough to kiss me. “Kiss me,” I told him, pressing my body even closer to him. I stared at his face as he was lost in pleasure, brows twitching, forehead sweating, lips quivering. I didn’t want to look anywhere else.

He swore a few times under his breath before emptying coming, too.

He didn’t walk away this time, just rested his face between my shoulder blades and caught his breath.

*****

**Monday 19:13**

I threw my jacket on the floor and jumped on my bed. I could hear Emma talking on the phone to some dude named David, talking about a law suit. I didn’t even care. Arthur had the TV volume at its highest, yelling at some basketball game. I couldn’t be angry at either of them for being the nosiest roommates for now. I was too busy smelling my cardigan; tracing the last hints of Mr. Demaury’s perfume there.

I was beaming like a child who had received his favorite Christmas present after a complete year of begging. I rolled into myself, hugging my pillow. I just had sex with my boss. Why was I acting like my first boyfriend had taken me on a yacht date with candle light and roses? He had been perfectly clear about me not getting any ‘ideas’. Boy I was way pass that, I was already listening to shitty pop songs and smiling.

“Lucas, can you do the laundry tomorrow? I have a meeting with my lawyer.”

“You have a lawyer? are you finally suing the landlord?” Arthur joined in the conversation without being invited.

“Lucas? Are you OK?”

“Fine, I do your laundry,” I said. “And I make dinner,”

I could see the frown on their face without even seeing them. Even if an asteroid hit the earth exactly on our apartment…

_I.just.would.not.care._

“Shit Emma I think Lucas is high,”


	6. Disaster in the kitchen

**Tuesday 18:23**

Emma was not kidding when she said she was going to be out all day long. The house was very quiet without her. I, who usually craved some silence was listening to a talk show on some local radio station. Arthur was suspiciously quiet.

I glanced at the washing machine; It was still rolling. Great, I also had a few minutes before my Alfredo sauce and pasta was ready. I washed my hands before heading back to my room. My phone was still charging, I checked for any notifications, nothing. That wasn’t unusual but judging from the fact that I had gone down on Mr.Demaury and made him orgasm in like one minute. I expected—I don’t know what I expected. A heart-eye emoji with XOXOs? A miss you? I was so naïve. I huffed, jumping on my back on the bed, resting my eyes for two minutes.

*****

**Tuesday 18:38**

“Lucas!” I woke up to Arthur calling my name. “Lucas!”

I realized my body was too heavy for someone who had just closed their eyes. I glanced over at my phone. _Putain_!—My sauce!

I ran to the kitchen; greeted by the sight of Arthur knocking on the washing machine and hitting it with his legs. He was wearing some crop tops that I believed belonged to Emma. Poor girl, we were always stealing her stuff. He angrily kicked the machine again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“This thing has beeping for ten minutes! It’s a wreck!” He kicked it again. “You have to empty it before it does the beeping thing. After that we need a bulldozer to get our clothes out!”

“Weren’t you supposed to tell me that before telling me to do the laundry?”

“I thought Emma did!”

“Well no she didn’t!”

“Come on!” He motioned to the door, holding the handle and pulling it to himself with all his power. I decided to help him, pulling it along with him. It was so stiff, there was no way we could detach it.

“Maybe try unplugging it from electricity?” I suggested. “I did it once; with a printer in the office,”

He paused, considering the idea. “Nah—Let’s just try harder. Will you open the window? It’s like hell in here,”

I did as he asked while Arthur hit the side of washing machine once again, ordering me to open the door in the exact minute. It didn’t work. We were both getting frustrated. In the end I ended up behind it, shoving it forward to help Arthur open it. I didn’t really notice the rusty wires until it was a little too late. As a result of me moving the thing the wire on the floor and the second the door opened and all the wet clothes with a huge expanse of water was all over the kitchen floor.

“Yay we did it!”

“Oh fuck Arthur! The water!”

“what?”

“The wire—water’s reaching the tarnished wire! Fuck! Get on the counter!”

For once he didn’t question me; jumping right on the counter behind himself. I didn’t have anywhere else but the washing machine itself. I sat on that and we both watched in fear the second the water hit the wires. The entire kitchen floor was sparkling and the washing machine had gone from beeping to loudly sputtering. 

“Oh my god!” Arthur gasped in terror. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

I tried to stay calm. I looked behind me, the thing was still connected to electricity. I reached for it for but my arms couldn’t extent enough, it was too far away. I had to climb down.

“I don’t know!”

We were both quiet for a minute until I smelled something weird. At first I thought it was the clothes were burning but then I felt a hint of milk there. OH FUCK MY DINNER.

“Wait is that—“ Arthur questioned. However, he didn’t get to finish his sentence. The oil in the pan was too hot—even hotter than my boss—

“I have to get to it,” I informed him, but it was too late. All we needed was a wind from the window to have the hot burning oil droplets thrown on the curtains. Then in a heartbeat, fire was also added to the party. I felt so stupid and miserable in that moment; I also felt like I had a fever dream. I pinched my thigh, making sure I was awake.

“Are you fucking pinching yourself? Our house is on fire and you’re pinching yourself?”

“What do you want me to do? Can’t fucking walk to it and blow it out! Floor is lava has finally come real!”

Arthur groaned in frustration, pain, anger and hatred for life all in one sound. He observed his whereabouts, checking to see if he could jump on the front counter to help with the fire but the distance was too great. “Honestly my bedroom is barely 6 square meters and the kitchen is a palace what the hell?” He protested. “Try throwing your shirt at it. It might help,”

“Why don’t you do it yourself?”

“Because it’s Emma’s!”

I hated today so much. “Fine fine,” I followed Arthur’s instruction, throwing my t-shirt at the curtain but if we hadn’t gotten enough cursed that day, my winding angle along with the stress had the shirt only making it half the distance. Its bottom caught the fire and fell on the pile of clothes on the floor. Arthur and I held our breath, hoping what we feared wouldn’t come real.

It did. A second after, the clothes on the kitchen floor were also on fire.

The blazing flame caught us by surprise, both of us jumping back. “Oh my fucking god we’re going to fucking die!” Arthur screamed, eyes comically wide and focused on fire.

“Arthur calm down—Oh shit my cardigan!” Damn—that was Mr. Demaury’s red cardigan. I almost sobbed. “I have to save it!” I bent over the edge of the washing machine, aiming to grab it but it was useless. It was already half-burnt.

“Your what? My entire wardrobe id in flames and you're being a drama queen about some sweater?" Arthur opened the counter above his head to throw a pan at me, cursing. I dodged it successfully with an acrobatic move, almost falling on the floor.

“Don’t fucking hit me! I will fall!”

“It’s called revenge! That tie cost me 200 dollars and I’d only worn it once!” A strong breeze blew inside, causing the curtains to flame viciously, even the frying pan was burning on the oven.

“If it’s that expensive why would you wash it after wearing it once? The washing powders ruin the material--Ouch” I coughed, the smoke was all the way inside my mouth and already piercing its way into my pharynx. Arthur was also staggering from above the counter. The glass in his hand was released and flew all the way over to me. It hit me above the eyebrow arch with a loud thud. I closed my eyes in pain, immediately checking to see if I was bleeding. “What was that?”

“I think I’m fainting—“

...” And as you can see we have a very stable home, totally perfect for—“ _Oh no. Oh no_. It was Emma’s voice. A minute later she walked in on us with a middle aged man in suit, which I guess was her liar. Both of them only stared jaw slacked at us from the kitchen door. “children,” She finished her sentence.

Oh fuck.

*****

**Tuesday 21:03**

“I leave this house alone for one day! For _one_ day!” She cried out, pouring herself some juice and settling on the table. She seemed hypoglycemic; her face pale and flaccid and her hands quivering. “I come back to one of you topless on the washing machine, the other in my crop top wielding a ladle like Thor’s hammer while my kitchen is burning and the floor is literally sparkling with electricity,” She sobbed at the end of it. “Did I actually say what I said because it sounded like a fever dream,”

I, holding an ice pack on my forehead and Arthur looking like he just walked through the apocalypse were sitting on the couch in front of her. We looked the very bit of students at school intentions.

“When were you going to tell us you’re pregnant?” Arthur asked.

“I already have two babies. Their names are Arthur and Lucas. It was stupid of me to even consider having another,” She retorted, shooting Arthur a deadly look. It was weird. Emma was really pregnant; Like she had a baby under her hoodie. When did it happen? How did it happen? Ew, I mean I know how it did happen but _how_ did it happen?

“How long have you been pregnant?” I asked her.

“Don’t know. Three months or something. I’m not really enthusiastic about it,” She sighed. “I was going to tell you. But I didn’t know how—It’s kind pf embarrassing. I always hated on babies and now here I am.”

“But you were drinking, literally last week,”

“It was non-alcoholic beer,” She explained. “I got it from the Muslim store next avenue. Owner guaranteed me it won’t cause any harm,”

“So a complete stranger, your lawyer and USCIS plus your co-workers found out before we did. Did I miss someone?” Arthur snapped at her. Then he softened from the sudden arch in her brows, she was close to crying. He walked up to her to give her a hug. “I’m sorry—It’s what you want, right? You’re happy?”

She nodded, hugging him, too. It was really sweet. It was also a bit unexpected because they were always arguing, this showed a different dimension to them. It made me feel somehow lonely. Even back home, how long had it been since I had been embraced like that?

“You’re not going to avoid the group hug after destroying my kitchen, Lucas. Come on,”

I chuckled, leisurely hugging them both. It felt great, safe, almost like home.

“I think the washing machine broke by the way,” I declared after a moment.

We all laughed.

*****

**Wednesday 8:19**

Mr. Demaury’s eyes did linger on me this time when he arrived. His haze was fixated on the bruise on my left eyebrow. He was sharp—I had covered it with my hair and one of Emma’s _high coverage_ concealers. I was also in need of some new wardrobe; most of my clothes were electri-fire-ashed whatever. How much would it cost me to repurchase half of my wardrobe?

I mean I didn’t look poor and homeless. But I was wearing a shirt with a college house symbol. I sighed, grabbed his coffee and entered his office. “Your coffee,” I quickly placed it on hi stable while he was hanging his coat.

“Wait,” He said, coming up to me. “What is that?”

“New shirt,” I shrugged. I didn’t dare look him in the eyes.

“Nice try,” He placed a string of my hair away from my face, combing it with the rest to set neatly at the sides. He tilted my face to observe me closely. “Who did this?”

“No-one,” I stubbornly refused to answer him.

“Don’t avoid my eyes,” he was being too careful, when was all this new found romance blooming from? I wanted to tell him it’s non if his business but—he was paying me and fucking me. Shit. That sounded so wrong not that kind of paying Jesus—but I was still his employee. “Who did this?”

“A mug,”

“What?” He was genuinely concerned. I had to bite the tip of my tongue in order to suppress a threatening chuckle. “You were robbed?”

“No, a mug—you know--a glass. Arthur hit me with it,”

The astonishment this time was mixed with an avenging promise. “As in Arthur Broussard?”

Oh shit. “No-No not like that. It was because I had set the house on fire, before electrified water was flooding the kitchen’s floor. It wasn’t entirely my fault but it was my fault. 50 percent of it—maybe 60. Or 70. I’d earned it,” And yes I was oversharing again. Why couldn’t I just shut my big mouth. It was going to get me in real trouble someday. I finally gained some confident to look into his eyes. What was that emotion there? Mockery? Pity? Shock? Amusement?

“Is that all?”

“I also may have wrecked our washing machine, unintentionally though. That’s 80 percent, isn’t it? Please don’t fire Arthur,”

He was puzzled for a few seconds, lost in the way to make any decision. I could exactly see the minute he half burst in laughter, a real one—not the titillating ones or smirking ones. It was a real life—regardless of him killing it a second after its appearance, it was a real one.

*****

**Thursday 11:11**

I fucking loved my life during those days. It seemed after our second and third time, Mr. Demaury wasn’t really interested in containing himself any longer. We were like rabbits in heat season. I was pretty certain everyone at the office knew we were fucking. There was no way they wouldn’t know—they either had to be blind or deaf. Sometimes we were loud, really loud. And whenever I left his room I looked like a tomato, blushing from head to toe. Did they blame me? I guess not because excuse me have you seen him?

“Oh—fuck—“ I whimpered, hands holding onto his shoulders as he repeatedly slammed into me. I was pressed into the window, legs around him and both fearing and relishing the height behind me. I had sworn to myself one time I would be strong enough to resist his smug face but today wasn’t that day.

“Yeah?” He was lifting my higher, making me almost look down at him. He wasn’t really bulky but he was handling me like I weighted nothing. It was so damn hot. “That’s what I’m doing,”

“Oh yeah? Then why didn’t I notice?” I teased him, raising an eyebrow in challenge. If anything he was glad to accept it; pinning my hands to the glass and speeding up. 

I loved every second of it.

*****

**Friday 16:42**

I was high with fever. Not an actual one but maybe even if I had a real one I’d still go to my desk sharp at 8 a.m. I was trying to work now; actually working. Mr. Demaury had more than ten meetings in the next week and I was doing my best to sort them in a way to avoid any unrequited conflicts. But he was not letting me, sitting behind his desk devouring me with his eyes. How I pretended I didn’t see it deserved an academy award of its own.

I kept filliping through his schedules, his desk calendar, his phone book. He really had an obsession with keeping everything printed and on-paper.

“Mr. Demaury I think you need to stop living in the 50s. There are some quite adequate classifying software out there with much less percentage error than I.”

“Are you suggesting your own inessentiality?”

“No. I’m suggesting more accuracy and more quality with less quantity,”

He stood up, walked up to the conference table where I was sitting, standing right behind me. He was just standing but my nervous system was really confused at this point; surging adrenaline to rush into my veins just by his proximity.

“My previous secretary Ingrid worked with me since the day one and she was 84. Her accuracy was unbeatable.”

“Why aren’t you working with her anymore, then?”

“Well she died,”

Wow. Zero emotions in that sentence. I didn’t even say I was sorry because one, I didn’t know her and two, Demaury didn’t seem like he cared too much.

“Well times are different now,” I shrugged.

He was silent for a minute until I felt him put his hands on table, stooping with his head on the side of my face. I, previously hunched towards my laptop desktop tried to sit sharper. His perfect face aside, despite my body singing to him, I seriously needed him to transform his numbers into a good application.

“What if my data is stolen? You can’t guarantee its safety,”

He had a point. “No. But—“

“Tell me how it works. Enlighten me,”

I sighed, forcing my thoughts back into some semblance of order, or at least pretend I was not stuttering. I opened the software I had downloaded earlier, explaining to him how it functions. I mean he wasn’t an idiot and I was certain he could already figure out the instructions but it was nice to have him actually listening to me. I was half-way through teaching how we could share files in the software’s cloud storage when I felt his face nuzzling into my hair. _Ignore that,_ I ordered myself, ignoring the goosebumps he was giving me. “And it won’t be necessary for me to call you all the time for the smallest things. I could just se—send—“ He was licking into my ear. Wasn’t ear a hearing organ? Why were my touch sensors so strong in that area? “send you anything here—“

“But I like hearing your voice,” He told me, nibbling at my earlobe. I almost, almost gave in in that second. I really wanted him again. I wanted him all the time. The feeling only his plain words could give me were beyond anything any of my exes had offered me. I swallowed, rather loudly comparing to how my throat was getting dry.

“Since you are so keen on data security, we could use an offline—“ He was very greedily lavishing my neck, my cheek and he was now kissing at my jaw line. He hummed, now scenting my back. I noticed my own breathing was ragged and irregular. “Offline mode—“ I whispered before he tilted my head to the side to kiss him. I insatiably kissed back in earnest. He rotated my chair, maneuvering me so that I was sitting on the edge of the conference table.

“Can’t I have a serious conversation?” I panted against his mouth as he stepped back to undo his belt. Fuck the sight of him in his tight white shirt, perfectly tailored pants were melting my insides. His eyes usually conveying the storm was now drowning in the shadow of its own pupils.

“We could stop anytime,” He suggested, rather smugly. He kissed me again, straight up pushing his tongue into my mouth. My neck almost broke with the force of his lips. He was so dominating in that moment, and when he stepped closer to me I could feel how hard he was. I already felt lightheaded, not knowing anything except how to respond in earnest. I opened my mouth more, raising my legs to pull him closer to me. “You don’t look like you’d want that,” He sounded so smug. I’d deal with it later. Right now I let him kiss me as he pleased.

*****

**Saturday 18:31**

Arthur had disappeared without saying anything and Emma was taking a nap. I wanted to ignore whoever it was. I had an exhausting week. I couldn’t stop daydreaming about ways to make my next week even more exhausting.

I wondered if Emma would consider changing the house now that she was pregnant, to have a place of her own. Maybe Arthur and I had to move out. Arthur had a few friends here but I had made very little progress in that specific area. Maybe I should try to find new people to hang out—not date or fuck or burn the house with. Actual people.

I was in the midst of these thoughts when the doorbell rang. I reluctantly left my bedroom to get the door, almost wanting to hide under the ground as I Nick’s adorable smile greeted me.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” I hung my face, too embarrassed to regard him fully.

“I was wondering if we could talk. There’s no need to make it a big deal.” He smiled. God, did I even deserve that guy? It would be unfair to him if I denied him. He had been nothing but nice to me.

“Sure. Just give me a few minutes until I get ready,”

“Oh. OK, I just wait here.”

*****

**Saturday 19:36**

So far we had been only ambling around the area until we reached the Queensbridge park. Nick found us an empty seat to face the east river. He even bought me a donut. So far we kept the conversation light, him asking about all the yelling and turmoil on Tuesday and laughing earnestly as I told him the story of that day. It was going to be one of those grandpa stories then, one I always ended up telling at dinner tables.

“Wow. I was actually trying to record a video that day. It was a killer to remove all the excess audio from the footage,”

I hid my face in my hands in shame. “Oh my god I’m sorry,”

“No it’s fine, really. I also burnt my kitchen once.”

“No way! You?”

He just laughed, shrugging. “I had my own troubles starting, but nothing like yours,”

I was blushing so hard. A part of it I could blame on cool evening breeze hitting the side of my face but some of it was from the flattering feeling of communication. I liked Nick. He was great guy, I really hoped this wasn’t going to awkward once I’d bring up Friday night.

“Yeah, nothing like mine. Listen Nick, about Friday night…I acted very immaturely. I did make you uncomfortable and I’m really sorry.” I said it all in one breath. “I think you were right—“

“Hey Lucas. It’s fine. You’ve just moved in here. It’s a new country. You’re adapting. Almost everything is new,” He gestured to everything around us. “I’ve been here for three years and you’re the first guy I tried to date. I wasn’t ready before that. I feel like I was forcing this entire thing on you,”

I found myself nodding at him. Even though I could understand him, it was still difficult to imagine a perfect guy like nick single for this long. And the fact that he was so empathetic added to his charm. I really wish I hadn’t met Mr. Demaury (That’s not true and we all know it but you get what I mean.)

“We could take everything slow. As slow as you want it. We can even just keep being friends. Maybe you’ll be ready someday, too,”

“Thank you,” I replied, my heart warming up to his words. “I’d love to be your friend, too,”

During the walk back I found myself at peace. This way no-one was going to get hurt. Nick even asked me If I wanted to participate in one of his videos. The fact that I was a natural but also a bit clumsy would be exceptional on camera; his words.

I told him I’d consider it.

*****

**Saturday 20:02**

Nick and I were almost at the front stairs when I saw Emma and Arthur signing a package. There was a huge box there, more than one meter in height. Emma skeptically thanked the delivery guy, observing the package with Arthur.

I apologized to Nick, approaching my friends and joining them. “What’s this?”

“Don’t know.” Emma answered.

The four of us carried it to the house, Arthur ripping the package open. After placing all the plastics and covers aside, there was no mistaking what it was. “It’s a washing machine,” Arthur said, chewing on his lips while looking at me. "A brand new expensive one,"

What. 

"What? I didn't order this," Emma declared

"Nor did I," Arthur said.

"Me neither," I told them.

"Then who did?"Nick asked.

Besides us four people, nobody even knew we were in need of a washing machine, except-- wait, was it from who I thought it was from?


	7. I’ve actually seen bees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Isn't writing just fun? I skipped like 6 weeks worth of story here, messing with the fabric of time:)))) Don't hate me i just didn't want to make this fic boring and monotonous. hope you enjoy<3  
> p.s The next chapter will have so much more Elu so bear with me here 😅

**Tuesday, October 8 th, 17:46**

I really did skip 6 weeks here, didn’t I? Because nothing note-worthy happened. Well, almost nothing. During the past weeks Mr. Demaury and I grew exceptionally close--sexually. There wasn’t one surface in his office we hadn’t made use of. Sometimes during his meetings, I would sit in the corner of his office, pretending to take notes while imagining if any of his clients and co-workers knew minutes before their arrival we were moaning into each other’s mouth right where they were sitting. Probably not.

I had also transformed from the trouble maker into a somewhat decent secretary. I hadn’t cost him anywhere near the million dollars I had in the beginning. I still accidentally poured some coffee on one of his shirts which caused him to that stern gesture on his face he does when he’s mentally done with the universe. Aside from that I hadn’t really made much troubles and I was proud of myself for it.

Then there was the situation in the apartment. Emma was the least enthusiastic pregnant woman I had ever seen. She was still working in the bar. She hadn’t even bought one a towel for the baby. I don’t even think she was fond of children; whenever a toddler was passing us in the street she would sigh. The poor kid might be doing nothing except walking and she’d mumble about how she’d never let her baby turn out that way.

And Arthur. Arthur had turned into a walking phantom. He would disappear suddenly and return at the most random hours. He also had tons of hickeys. My guess? He was having some friends with benefits relationship with someone who had the weirdest shift work. Emma’s guess? He had joined the vampire lovers’ academy—up all night along with artificial bite marks. Mine was a more rational one until Arthur announced he’d dress up as lord Dracula for Nick’s Halloween party.

And Nick was going to host a party for Halloween and he’d invited us. How could we turn him down when he came to our door with the most delicious peach pie I had ever tasted?

And back to now-- _right fucking now.  
_

I may have just fucked up again. I _kissed_ Mr. Demaury. Yes, I know I know we had kissed plenty of times before. But this one was different. It came so naturally to me that I didn't fight it. It wasn’t to initiate anything sexual, it wasn’t suggestive, it wasn’t even a kiss on the mouth.

He was grabbing his coat to leave. I still had some unfinished business and when he asked me if I was staying I replied with a simple yes.

“See you tomorrow then,” he closed his briefcase, ready to go when I did it. I stood on tip toe, eyes still on the new poster samples when I kissed his cheek affectionately.

“Fine. Take care,” I whispered to him. He distanced himself from me the exact minute I realized what I’d done. Oh no. He was going to freak out now, tell me I had misunderstood everything and we were nothing more than two people who occasionally fucked.

“..um.. a—okay,” he swiftly answered before almost running to the door, his quiet departure turning into a hurried race for the door.

Now I was overthinking about how I’d ruined it. That look on his face, the astonishment. He didn’t seem displeased or triggered. He just seemed shocked. I pulled out my phone to see if he’d texted me anything.

Nothing at all.

*****

**Tuesday 19:12**

“Lucas would you hand me some ketchup?”

Emma and I were preparing a quick meal together. She called it Emma’s special meatballs; I called it whatever-left-over-we-had-from-last-week smashed into fried slimy ball.

She was sporting an actual bulge now. with a hand on her waist to support the added weight of her belly. Every once in a while I caught a glimpse of her smiling down at herself. No matter how much she tried to conceal it, I could see her growing soft. The baby was growing on her.

I handed her the sauce from the shelf before jumping on the counter near the window. She still hadn’t bought a curtain after the whole fire incident. It was a creative move; the light would enlighten the room until late evening. I lent my attention to the street below. There were a couple of teenagers playing soccer, a mother and her baby daughter walking with two sacs full of grocery and a couple exchanging some kisses on the side walk. I looked at them with awe, thinking of the kiss I had given Mr. Demaury. Up until that moment I was content with what we had, whatever it was. But now I had this guilt creeping into my chest. How long would it be before I yearned for more?

“I can hear you over thinking boy,” Emma pulled me out of my thoughts, handing me a cup of warm tea. I hadn’t even realized she’d poured me some. “Do yourself a favor. If it’s making you stare at children while looking like a lovesick Romeo, it’s not something you want to deal with alone,”

I tittered, taking a sip of the tea. Then I glanced at Emma again _. Emma. She_ was an absolute expert in no strings attached relationships. She was also a trust-worthy confidante. She was a bit lazy and sarcastic but her opinion was usually logical. And she was right. The complexity of my feelings for Mr. Demaury was exhausting my mind. I needed some counseling.

“Emma I want to tell you something but you can’t share it with anyone else,” I warned her.

She scrunched her face. “Is it illegal?”

“What? No! I mean I guess not,” I said.

She huffed, finally giving into the temptation of her curiosity. “Go on,”

Fine. Yes. Right. How was I supposed to deliver it properly to sound mature but also visible that I needed her guidance?

“I like someone,”

She smirked. “I thought you were selling weed to high schoolers,”

“Emma, Listen. I—the person I like is—he’s--“

“Please don’t tell me you like Arthur now,”

“What the hell let me finish! He’s someone from the office,”

“That’s it?” She shrugged. “Look, everyone at some point develop feelings for someone at workplace. But don’t act on it. In six months you’ll look back and laugh about it. Ignore them,”

“I can’t just ignore them. I already slept with him. I have been—for last two months.” Despite avoiding her eyes I could see her scratching her forehead, as if that would make thoughts magically form that way. She urged me to continue with a nod. “And even though we’re keeping it casual and just doing it in the office, I really like him. I’m afraid I freak him out,”

“How?”

“We never did any sort of affectionate gesture outside of… sex and I accidentally kissed him on the cheek today. Like a boyfriend... He was so startled by what I did. Fuck, even I was startled.”

I dared to look her. She was leaning against the sink, arms folded and observing me in full attention. “Is that why you rejected Nick?”

I nodded in shame. She only hummed in understanding. I was really glad she wasn’t judgmental. Had it been Yann or Manon I was already facing a TED-talk worthy lecture.

“And what is it you want to know? You want to know if he likes you back or a fuck in the office is as far as you can get with him?” I nodded again, timidly finishing my tea.

“I’m not certain if you’re confident about sharing any more than that with me but has he ever called you without a purpose? Just to chat? Has he ever taken you out? Anything that suggests he’s chasing more than just casual sex?”

He certainly did. But not constantly. “Sometimes. He’s giving me mixed signals,” I know that pathetic smile on her face. “Just be honest please,”

“Look sweetie I don’t want to be pessimistic but most of the times office sex that’s doesn’t have chances out of those walls. It’s different from the movies in real life. I already guess your guy’s older and in a superior position than you are. Even if he’s interested, you’re an inexperienced kid who’s just moved here. Maybe it’ll be different with you but my advice is don’t get too attached. You deserve a real thing if you like someone,”

And it hit me. The bulldozer of all the pent-up thoughts I had locked way under the heavy weight of my own imaginations. She was probably right. I couldn’t even look her in the eyes now. I placed the cup into her hands as I excused myself. She held my arm in reassurance before letting go.

I walked into my door and closed the door. I just wanted to be alone.

*****

**Wednesday 12:53**

Perhaps I had exaggerated the circumstances. Mr. Demaury’s attitude hadn’t changed that much. It was even better now as we were lying on the couch together and _he_ was the one to press a kiss to my forehead. I looked at the pile of clothes on the floor, the scattered notes and his cigarettes.

I wasn’t in the mood of standing up just yet and I was starting to get slightly cold. I reached out to grab Mr. Demaury’s shirt from the ground, splaying it on my back like a blanket. He chuckled, running his fingers through my hair. “What? I’m cold.”

“Really?” He slipped his fingertips under the shirt, connecting them to my skin. “I think I’m more capable of fixing that than a piece of cloth,”

I rested my chin on his chest, challenging him with a raise in my eyebrow. “Never said you weren't,”

“Yet you choose to deny it. I’m seriously offended,” The theatrical expression of sadness didn’t match the wandering hands on my back. My body was coming to live next to him, any nerve endings more sentient by each passing second. I closed my eyes when I felt him grabbing the back of my thighs to pull me up. “And look at you. Not even a hint of sorrow is there,”

I straddled his lap, sitting up slightly just enough to hover over him for a few centimeters. Those eyes were seeing right through me, even if it were only temporary I could accuse them of attempting to memorize me. “You like me this way,” I grinded on him only a little, mesmerized by how quickly his teasing pattern on my thighs turned into a firm grip. “You like how Irritating I am,” I grinded down harder, feeling him getting hard. “It turns you on,”

He surged up to connect our lips, sitting up in seconds and making our bodies flush together. I was quick to wrap my hands around his neck. I slowly moved back on forth on his lap. We had fucked not more than fifteen minutes ago but I became insatiable when I was near him and the fact that I had the same effect on him was more intoxicating than any drug.

“Fuck,” he held the side of my face when his erection slipped between underneath my butt just right. “Wait wait—I had to give Noora the final list of guests to--”

“Seriously? now?” there was no way I would be leaving my comfty seat now.

“No it’s— Charles’ mother’s holding a gala for her charity,” I didn’t fully comprehend his words beyond the ache of my thighs screaming for me to continue what they were doing seconds ago. “I already sent her your name—Is that OK?”

“Yes…But am I even allowed there?” I asked him.

“As if they’d dare disobey me,”

"Smug," I bit my lip. I enjoyed it whenever he reminded me he could just order around. It made me recall how he always put up with my troubles without that sense of leadership. I had some effect on him. More than some, judging by the way he was maneuvering me on my back, all impatient and greedy. Once i was settled comfortably on my back, he covered my body with his. With a hand guiding my right thigh to wrap around his waist and the other securely on my lower back, He kissed me again. I held him close as he felt me up. In minutes the last thing on my mind was some charity party.

*****

**Thursday 11:02**

I had been walking on cloud since yesterday. Only after I had left his presence the reality came into clarity for me. He was taking me to a ball! The stupid smile was impossible to be disengaged from my face. I was certain a few times I caught the light shade of pink on my cheeks in the bathroom mirror. I was now writing an E-mail to one of the clients about the importance of his presence in one of the conferences and I couldn’t help but get distracted every other second. I would attend to a gala with Mr. Demaury--as his secretary but still, I was going there. There was nothing to ruin my joy now.

_*New message: Noora Saetre: Mr. Lallement Meet me in my office ASAP._

I read that again. It was so unlikely of her message me on What’s App. I saved the email as a draft, left my desk to visit her.

She had already been awaiting, sitting behind her desk, hands locked as she invited me into her office. Her room was much smaller than Mr. Demaury’s but it was more organized and lavished. “Please do sit down,”

I skeptically glanced about the room. She was a determined person but now the wrinkle between her eyebrows looked perilous to me. I sat on the chair closest to her desk. “Have I done something—“

“You’re sleeping with Mr. Demaury, aren’t you?” That wasn’t a question. She was already certain.

“I—it’s not—“

“Cut the nonsense. I’m the office manager. Do you what that means? I know everything that’s going on in this building. So let me ask again, are you sleeping with Eliott?”

I almost sobbed when I confirmed her. This was something very personal, I had barely shared it with Emma and I was being interrogated about it now. I was not comfortable at all.

“Good. I want you to sign this,” She slipped a piece in front of me with a pen resting on top of it.

I gingerly leant forward to read it. I was two lines into the first paragraph when I realized the purpose behind it. I felt my hands freezing and my heart stopping for a bare second. “… _It had been consensual in all natures and by no means under any influence such as any chemical substance, manipulation and misuse of power, etc?_ What is that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s pretty clear,” 

“Who is this directed to? Are you suggesting I intoxicated him with drugs to what? sleep with me? That I manipulated him? Misuse of power? What the hell does that even mean?” I was ware I was talking bit harshly and vociferously and loud enough for any by passers to hear us but I felt so very humiliated and accused in that minute I hardly gave a damn.

She didn’t even flinch. “Listen. Signing it only means none these occurred; that none of you were the victim of sexual harassment and if you were, we’d be able to help you better.”

I held the sheet up to read a random line. “… _not to share the details of the said incidents with a third party in order to preserve the privacy of the company…?_ ” This was too elaborate; with loads paradoxes between the lines. I may be young but I wasn’t stupid. “This is basically restricting people to report any harassment. How is that helping?”

“I’d really appreciate if you read the entire page,“

I wanted to comply but then my eyes caught one of the words at the bottom of the page. The word final word, a bold ‘here’ had a vertically longer _H_. It wasn’t from the font; it was the smear remain of printing ink; which meant only one thing. She hadn’t printed this in the office—we only had laser printers, no ink would be required with those. And one more thing, it wasn’t a copy. It was an original printed file. There was only one of it needed. “I’m the only person who’s signing this, aren’t I?”

She opened her mouth but closed it. So yes, I was the sole case. The company wouldn’t really bother itself with documenting every single affair. But this was Mr. Demaury—his father was practically the owner and it was most definitely in his future plans for his only child to inherit his legacy. A dorky kid like me wasn’t supposed to ruin it with a sudden bombshell out of nowhere.

“Does Mr. Demaury know about this?”

She bit the inside of her bottom lip and I could see for a flashing minute that she wasn’t happy to deliver this task either. “He doesn’t. And I personally ask you to let this remain confidential.”

“Why?”

“That is not something I’m allowed to tell, I’m sorry.”

“May I at least think about this?”

She nodded earnestly, glad to have me cooperating. “But please do not discuss it with anyone. It’s for your own benefit,”

*****

**Tuesday 18:34**

“What the hell are you doing? Oh my god Arthur come here!”

I wasn’t even thinking clearly as I pulled the washing machine from the kitchen towards the exit door. Emma was staring at me like I was murdering puppies in front of her. But she kept her distance, my bloody red eyes and furious look was a stay-away-from-me alarm.

“Yes yes-- woah! What are you doing?” He stood next to her, eyes wide from seeing the state of me.

“I should throw this out,” I cried out. “It’s not ours,”

“Look I understand your concern but we have contacted the Post about five times. It was bought under Emma’s name, it’s not a delivery mistake,” Arthur tried to reason me, helping me away from the poor device. _Without any covenant, remittance and written agreement—_

Arthur was right. There was no use. The package was ordered with Emma’s name and Mr. Demaury never gave an honest answer about whether or not he’d bought us that device. It was useless.

I wish I had the strength to quit the second that piece of sheet was revealed. But the money—I sent half of it straight back to my mother. She needed it for her medication. That was the exact reason why I had to quit my previous job despite how helpful Mika had been. And It was specifically mentioned if I was to resign, I would never be able to see my boss. The problem wasn’t what sort of fraudulent promises was written there, it was the fact that there was something written. The only thing that stupid signature wanted from was me promising to never bash my boss behind his back in the future. He had not done anything I didn’t want. It was pointless from my point of view but it must have been so necessary to guard his future from someone else’s. 

It wasn’t from the company; it was from Mr. Demaury’s father. I’d bet my life on it.

Why was I so unlucky?

Before I even realized, Arthur had pulled me into his arms. I noticed I’d made a wet spot on his shirt from the wetness of my held back tears.

“It’s alright,” He whispered. “You want to talk about it?”

I shook my head as no.

They didn’t push for more.

*****

**Thursday 18:48**

Mall. One place to never visit with an Emma and Arthur, specifically after telling them you were invited to a Gala. Arthur was somehow pissed that he wasn’t attending but he was excited to show tiny baby pants and sweatshirts to Emma. She seemed less and less impressed with each one. “Baby clothes are so dumb. I’ve never seen a bear drive a car. Who’d pay for that?”

Arthur’s smile faded as he placed the Teddy bear shirt back to its place. “You are so unenthusiastic,”

“Pick something not labeled for 2-3 year-olds and I might actually consider it.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “What?” His eyes traveled back and forth between the clothes. “They’re even tinier than these?”

Emma chuckled. “Boy you’re so cute I swear,” She checked the time on her phone before pacing up her steps, whispering something about the shop closing earlier than others. We both followed her until she led us into a corridor at the back of the building until we entered a vacant valley. I threw a suspecting look at Arthur but he just shrugged, mouthing it’s cool. Emma stopped in front of a worn-out old shop. It still had a coats from the 1980s style on its mannequins. I had a feeling it wasn’t because the 80s were back in the fashion again.

“Hello?” Emma called out. “Mr. Bianchi?”

“What is this place?” I asked Arthur as she disappeared into the store.

“He’s Emma’s friend. He’s one of the coolest guys I know. Relax,” He replied, gesturing me to go inside. The store was somewhat dark and the fact that the owner had decided to play ancient opera tracks with low quality audio didn’t help either. I felt like this would be how the beginning of a scary film would feel like.

“Emma dear!” An old man in his perhaps 70s came to view, hugging Emma tightly. “Long time no seen. I feared you left without saying goodbye,” He smiled, the corner of his eyes so perfectly held together now forming millions of wrinkles. He had a friendly face and a tan. How did he have a tan working here? By now he must have some serious Vitamin D deficiency with the amount of sunlight that came in—which was zero. When his eyes found me, his eyebrows dramatically rose up. “Oh I see you have a new friend! What a handsome face he has!” He almost ran towards me. I instinctively took a step back but the old man was fast, also Arthur detained me from actually running away. The man cupped my face in a way-too-friendly matter and leant in, meticulously sizing me with his eyes.

“Look at those yes,”

“You see colors in this light?”

“What?” He asked.

“what,” I repeated. My wicked tongue was not about to stop, was it. There was a direct pathway from the instant thought center of my brain straight to my mouth, no analysis or perusal nope.

“What can I do to help, dear?” He was observing me, however that tone was directed at Emma and Arthur.

“Our friend is going to a luxury ball. But he’s—“ Arthur wrapped his arms around my shoulder.

“He doesn’t have a suit,” Emma finished. “But hanging out with all those entitled people, we can’t have him wearing something cheap,”

I mouthed a _what_ at Emma the second the creepy old man spun around to search in the suits. She didn’t have to do this. I was extremely serious when I said I wanted something simple. I was not the star of a Hollywood red carpet. I didn’t want to be more of a burden on them.

“A man must always have a suit!” He was babbling. “The clothes are first step to know someone. You came to the red place! I have suits particularly made for you!”

“Nothing too expensive I hope,” I added quietly. Emma glared at me and I held my hands up in surrender. I’d close my mouth now.

Two minutes later, Mr. Bellucci, Bianchi, placed a pair of suit on the island table. Both of my friends dragged me towards the mirror, making me wear the coats and oh boy—how much were these stuff? They weren’t new but they were sumptuous and luxurious. I was the very picture of a distraught mess in the window. “Emma how much these’ll cost?”

“Relax. They’re second-handed.”

“I know. But still. I asked you for something cheap,”

“Don’t worry about that, Bianchi loves a skilled bargainer.” Arthur added, helping me put on a grey coat. The color was nice but it would have looked better on Mr. Demaury. Most of his suits were that color. It would be really awkward if we showed up in the same color.

“May I have something subtler? I don’t want to be under the spotlight,”

Bianchi rubbed at his perfectly trimmed beard for a few seconds until he disappeared into a closet and returned with a navy blue velvet coat. Even with the dimmed light I could practically the softness of the fabric under my fingers.

I didn’t fight him as he helped me put it on. Arthur exchanged a victorious grin with Emma and then put his thumbs up for me. “You look so hot in that!”

“It’ll be even better with this!” Bianchi clapped his hands together, presenting a pristine white shirt to me. They really did look splendid together; subtle and yet impossible to go unnoticed. I would kill for days to pass and for Mr. Demaury to see me in these. He always told me I was cute—I wanted to be get called hot.

“Young boy if you ever wanted a second job, hit me up!” Bianchi clapped his hands, satisfied with his handiwork and he had the right to. It had been so long since I actually paid for suits.

Few minutes later Emma was asking the old man about his daughters and grandchildren as I went through the accessories shelves. At this point I wasn’t even considering the price. I had even taken a selfie and sent it to Yann. He sent me big heart-eye emojis in seconds, correctly guessing it wasn’t my taste. I hated how he knew me so well.

“Which one it’ll be?”

“I have the blue one,” I answered. I wasn’t really too invested in clothing but Emma was right. Everyone at that party would be wealthier than me. They’d know a fake costume on spot and I—well, what? Call me shallow but even those who say they care not for people’s opinion actually do.

“That’ll be 15 hundred dollars,”

What the hell. I choked on my own spit. I could buy these items with 600 dollars at the same damned mall we just passed from. I gave Emma a nasty face but she just grinned wickedly, tilting her head, asking me to give him my credit card. My hands were trembling as I did so but she suddenly took her coat off. At first Bianchi didn’t mind but then he caught the bulge in her belly. “Oh dear! Are you pregnant, _tesoro_?”

Emma—academy award winner—portrayed a taken back offended face with so much expertise I thought the word pregnant meant homicidal cannibal.

“What?” Arthur chimed in, covering his mouth in faux bewilderment. “Oh shit,”

Bianchi’s eyes found mine, eyebrows raising in a question. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I’m not pregnant,” That was so real I thought I had been pranked for the past two months. “I—I have—I added a few kilograms since the last time we met—“

Her lower lip quivered before Arthur glared at the poor Bianchi. That man was red as beet with shame. “Oh dear...“

“Can we just get on with it?” Arthur insisted.

Bianchi, drowning in his shame, paused before smiling again. “Why don’t we have a discount here kids?” he suggested and _oh-_

These two were incredible.

*****

**Thursday 20:01**

During the ride home Arthur finally revealed the pair of socks he had bought for the baby. “Aren’t they gorgeous?” Emma rolled her eyes at him but Arthur’s smile was too sincere to ignore. It was also a cute pair: a few bees doodled all over it with a rainbow on the hill. “And nothing unrealistic because I’ve actually seen bees and rainbows,”

“Fine.” She faked a reluctantly pout but her eyes were smiling. “Since I didn’t have to pay for it,”

I had to laugh at that. She addressed me this time. “You think it’s funny? Should I remind you how I saved your wallet from extinction today?”

“You two are fraud masterminds, I give you that. The fact that Arthur caught on on spot—“ I complimented them on the trickery they pulled earlier—which wasn’t a positive characteristic but a useful one and soon they were sharing more of their pranks. Arthur was rambling about the one time they had pretended to be a family friend at some stranger’s wedding when my phone vibrated. They were so invested in their own memories and laughter that they didn’t even see my attention flying away.

_*New message, unknown number: It’s me. From now on text me via this number._

I knew who it was without even the need to ask. _OK ;)_

A few minutes later and the reply came. _Are you at home?_

You: _No, why_?

Unknown Number: _Text me when you get there. I want to talk._

You: _What about?_

Unknown number: _About how good I can make you feel_.

I actually coughed. My response was perfectly timed with the conversation going on outside my phone because Emma nodded in return. “I know right? I never would have guessed we actually met him there!”

“Yeah,” I said, aware of the fact that if she asked me to repeat one word of their conversation, I'd just stare blankly at them. My eyes flying back to the fading screen of my phone.

 _About how good I can make you feel_.

This was new.

_You: How?_


	8. Maybe I could get lucky, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's longer than my usual chapters but I just couldn't stop :) These two will be the death of me seriously.

**Tuesday 10:02**

What’s the difference between 78 and 79? One? That little exctra curved line at the left bottom of eight that nine doesn’t have? Yes. But that’s very irrelevant to my point here. The difference is, my dears, that the latter is capable of sending me dirty text while the former is a selfish pain in the ass. How do they both even belong to the same person? 

_I want you—_

_I miss how you taste—_

_Tell me what you like, what turns you on—_

_I will touch you just how you like it, drag it out for hours. Seeing your pleasure is what get me off—_

_I like how you lose control, fuck, the way your muscles tense before you come—_

_That first hitch of your breath when I slid my hands into your pants, it gets me hard all the way—_

I was not the one to read sext messages again; I found them uncomfortable after It was finished. But now, I was reading them for the third time. First time was when he texted me, turning me into a sweating mess right away. I texted him back with one hand, with the other I furiously jerked off. The second time was two hours after. It was inevitable. I took my time with myself that time, dragging it out, _just how he wanted it—_

His words were all that echoed in my head and his face was all I saw.

The third time was now, behind my desk at the office. I was all bothered again, all flushed and looking like I had a fever.

“Ehem,” Someone coughed from above me.

I lifted my gaze with a pair of heady eyes and dumbstruck expression. Mr. Demaury with arms folded and gaze piercing just lifted an eyebrow. “Did you check your mail?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,”

I left my phone be on my thighs and pretended I had not been daydreaming with the texts he sent me himself. I opened the Inbox and there were three PDF files titled ‘names’. He nodded, encouraging me to open them. Each of them had about twenty pages filled with people’s photos and brief photograph containing general information about the said person.

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

He just stared at me. “Memorize them. This is the list of the potential guests that I will be possibly encountering with during the party and it’ll be very embarrassing if I can’t remember them,”

“You don’t know them?”

“Of course I do. This is just the backing plan _in case_ I forget. Not that your memory is very trust-worthy but it is better than nothing,”

I only glared at him. Was that why he wanted me to accompany him or was he only doing this to have me all frustrated? Whichever it was, they were both very cruel.

“There is nothing wrong with my _memory,_ ”

“When am I meeting Sandra Hitchcock of _Flamingo’s_?”

 _Merde._ I knew the answer to that question. I swear I do. It was the nervousness that was erasing it from my mind that moment. I stared at him. That’s all I did, no shrugging, no I’m sorry, nothing.

He tilted his head with a matching lift in his eyebrow that said _see my point_. I sighed, accepting my defeat.

“She’s also in that list. Memorize it well,” He slid his hands into his pocket, smirking at me as he walked to Mr. Alaoui’s office.

Jerk.

Hot jerk.

*****

**Wednesday 19:21**

“Miranda Is the blonde one with a butterfly tattoo on her neck. Honestly Lucas how hard it is? Even I have memorized it!” Arthur groaned with frustration, rubbing at his worn out eyes under the glasses. I glared at him, hitting him in the side from where I was sprawled on the arm chair next to the couch.

“I hate this party already,” I muttered, scrolling on my phone to see how many more faces I had to memorize. Many. There were too many. “I just call in sick that night,”

This time it was Emma who threw a cushion at me. “For the sake of that suit you must go,”

Arthur nodded enthusiastically. “She’s right. You look great in that. Might as well make good use of it and get laid at the end of the night.” He closed his eyes for a second, biting his lips to remember something. “Bang that Adam guy—Which one was it, the single dad with hazel eyes? From what you described he was hot,”

Emma snorted at that, wiggling her eyebrows at me with a knowing smirk. Arthur didn’t miss that. How did he not miss that? He was practically buried under his blanket with his entire attention devoted loyally to his Basketball games. He raised his eyebrows, fully presenting a betrayed mother discovering her children’s porn for the first time. “Am I missing something?”

“Nothing,” I definitely stretched that last vowel. Not subtle, Lucas. Not subtle.

“OK what are you two hiding from me?”

“Nothing—“

“We had this stupid bet you’re bi and you just calling a guy hot kind of confirmed it,” Emma added quickly, wrinkling her nose and rhythmically waving her wrist to add exaggeration. 

“This is legit the most stupid made-up lie I’ve ever heard. I let it pass this time but eventually I’ll figure it out,”

“No-one said you wouldn’t, _cocotte_ ,” She told him, then offering her attention to me. “Lucas go ahead with that list of yours. Who’s after Miranda?”

I thanked her with my eyes; which she had not earned at all considering it was her suggesting smile that almost gave me away. I remembered that piece of paper again. According to that even Emma wasn’t allowed to know but someone from the office, someone like Arthur? _absolutely_ no way.

*****

**Friday 18:26**

I was stuck in the bathroom; Arthur with scissors trying to trim the last strings of rebellious hair on my head while I was memorizing the very last few ones of the guest list. My hair was fine; these two only took pleasure in turning me into a wild hedgehog with the unnecessary amount of scissoring.

“Tell me again why did I not go to a barber like a normal person?”

“Because—hey stop moving do you want me to cut your ear?” Arthur fixated my neck, caging some hair between his middle and first finger to see if it had the same length. “Because you are stingy and I’m talented,”

“What I’m not stingy!” I turned my head to express my frustration at Arthur but maybe that was a mistake. He was the one with a sharp pair of scissors less than an inch from my face and it cut through my cheek with a neat slice. It was so fast I almost thought I nothing happened but then the sharp fast pain proved me wrong.

“Oh shit!” Arthur was fast to plaster a tissue on my face.

“What the hell?” I angrily squeaked at him, stepping away from the seat we’d placed in the middle of the bathroom to observe my face in the mirror. It was a shallow cut, nothing too dramatic. The kind of cut that only stung and got red and swollen. With the addition to that wild hair I might as well go to a street fight instead of a gala. “Great, I look like a mugger,”

“You don’t look nearly as tough,” Arthur responded with a little laugh.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?”

“Depends. Is that supposed to be a thank you?”

“You just cut my cheek! Am I supposed to kiss you for it?”

“Makes you look badass. By the way your hair looks awesome no problem!” He gruffly tossed the scissors aside.

I checked my hair in the mirror. He was right though; it was more classic from how I worn it regularly. It just needed some gel. “Okay whatever,” I mumbled, stepping out to steal the iron from Emma’s closet room, not even bothering to ask or her permission. She was reading a book, not even glancing upwards at me as she warned. “Careful with that iron it burns stuff,”

“Name me one thing in this house that works probably!” I nagged.

“TV. Though don’t get your hopes high we still use Alex’ Netflix password. We might lose it any second,”

Great. Just perfect.

I ironed the white shirt with super speed. It was already ironed and smooth but it didn’t bother to be extra careful. Once I was ready to go, Emma helped me with a final touch of a concealer on the little scar and a tiny bit under my eyes— _“you’d be less zombie-like”._ She even put it in my pocket in case I needed any retouch _._ And I was ready to go, fresh and excited, for a two hour ride in the subway.

Maybe I really had a greedy relationship with money sometimes.

*****

**Friday 20:31**

I ploughed through the mass of people gathered at the gate of the mansion where the ball was supposed to be held. The colossally amount of vehicles parked outside was ridiculous considering I just had to sit in subway for almost two hours next to a guy who was constantly arguing with his girlfriend on the phone. Why one of them couldn’t just pick me up, too? I was pretty certain none of them lived in my neighborhood but still, I could clearly see some familiar faces from the company.

My coat was pretty winkled by the time I was waiting at the door for Mr. Demaury to arrive. If I had considered myself somewhat averagely personable a few minutes ago, now waiting in the humid cold outside with threatening clouds I looked nothing but lamentable with freezing figure and drenching concealer under my eyes.

I pulled my phone out from my pocket to ask him if he’d arrived and if yes maybe he could come outside for a minute to guide me through since I had no invitation but my battery was already dead from playing candy crush non-stop during the ride here. I angrily shoved the phone in my back pocket, counting the people and cars in a failing attempt to distract myself.

“I have been calling you for the past ten minutes!”

“I’m sorry my battery was dead, I—“

Have you ever seen one of those cheesy teen movies in which when the protagonist meets the love of their life time stops? I was the one to always to greet them with derision and criticism. Don’t get me wrong, I still do. I believed in ‘instant connection’ in the first sight instead of lobe, but that wasn’t the first time I was seeing him right? Love in 1675th sight could be realistic. 

He was out of this world; an olive turtle neck that somehow proved his eyes even had tiny rays of green in them, a caramel trench coat draped over him. His hair was a wild mess, not the usual orchestrated tousled he sported. I had this vision in which I ran through it and he kissed me there but it didn’t happen. Instead I caught his eyes lingering on me, an unreadable expression on his face. Perhaps my state was worse than I imagined. I tried fidgeting it aimlessly. “I had to take the subway here I’m sorry if I look disheveled,” I stuttered. Even models in runway would feel scruffy near him.

“No!” he immediately interrupted me, even surprising himself. “You look… acceptable,” He took his time figuring that word out, guiding me to the mansion.

I followed him, eyes dancing around the garden to the other guests. Emma had been right, they all looked like they stepped out of magazine covers. It made me feel insecure in any way possible. How could he still want me while being around all these attractive people?

“Come on. It’s warmer inside,” He extended his arm around me and even if for just one fracture of a second, it made feel an incandescent amount of affection towards him.

*****

**Friday 21:18**

The convention was not as nearly exciting as I previously thought it to be. There was a band of violinist playing a classical piece in the background, a small gallery in one of the corridors with modern paintings tagged with prices so high even if I sold my entire organs in black market I wouldn’t be able to afford one. Apparently the semblance unfinished portraits were the true host of the charity; painted by orphans and homeless artists in need of help. The company was supposed to offer them the entire profit but from what I heard from Mr. Demaury and Miss Sætre, they were only going to receive fifty percent and the other benefits—the opportunity of being presented to extremely rich people who’d pay any amount of money if they felt threatened their neighbors could get their hands on them first.

Sætre was giving me looks all night, as if asking me through her silent if I’d made up my mind about the whole contract. I had. I was going to change a line or two and then sign it. I had discussed with Emma; she believed it was for my own good as well. Half-way through the evening she left us to chat with some of her friends, murmuring something in Mr. Demaury’s ear that caused him to tense up for a few minutes. After that, it was only the two of us.

I tried to initiate a conversation between us but he was engaging in way too many of those at the same time. Almost everyone recognized him, most of them tried to charm him and the rest complimented him on the conduct of the party. There was really no need for me here, he greeted every guest like an old friend; asking them very detailed questions to indicate he actually had a clue who they were.

In the midst of all the turmoil of the guests I decided to get myself a drink. No-one would notice my presence and therefore the lack of it anyways. It was all stupid—dressing up, styling my hair, all of it. I had to get one look at his direction to be hit by a stronger wave of insecurity. The women around him who seem to bewitched by him and the few tantalizing glances some men threw at him. Huh! I had a better chance with the door than him. I had this sudden urge to run away, hide and never return, put an end to this embarrassment I had included myself in.

“Is that any good?” A woman said from my left. Her face was unfamiliar. I hadn’t noticed someone was else was there to treat themselves. However, with her kind smile and glowing eyes I doubt we had the same cause for the sudden hunger.

I regarded the piece of fruit cake I was having. My mouth felt stuffed. I was so caught up in my sorrow I had not even noticed I was choking on the second plate of the pink cake. “Yeah,” I answered.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“I don’t like strawberries,” I answered, which was dumb, but from the corner of my eye I saw a girl kissing Mr. Demaury almost on the lips, the audacity of her. I couldn’t care less about small talk. “I just like cakes,”

“You realize that’s a strawberry cake, right?" She chuckled and when I shrugged it off, she made her conclusion. “That screams complicated,” and it wasn’t wrong.

She examined our whereabouts before literally digging her entire forearm in the champagne punch. Her face was so focused, eyebrows knitted together as he forced even her elbow in the bowl. I placed the cake plate on the table, just staring at this woman with bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

“That screams complicated,” I raised my eyebrow at her. She pouted but I could see her giving up trying on her own. “My earring fell in there. I can’t seem to find it,”

At first I was hesitant. It wasn't my problem but she was really distressed about it. Eventually I gave into my humanity, deciding to help her. I cuffed my sleeves, searching to see if we were being watched by anyone particular before burring my hands in the cool punch. I could only feel pieces of fruits but she seemed genuinely concerned so I continued anyway until my pinkie felt a metal. Her other earring was a very tiny golden ring, and from what I was feeling it had stuck to something at the bottom of the bowel. There was no way I could pull it out with my fingers, I needed something more precise, something thinner.

Emma’s concealer applicator! She was a bit grumpy about how thin it was and that she had to dip it in twice to get some product out of it and yep, it was handy now. I with my other hand I reached for it and asked her to pull out the applicator. At first she looked confused but the second I could use it to pull out the earing she was staring at me like I was a genius.

“Wow,” She almost laughed. “That was a like a five-minute craft in person!” She helped me clean my wet hand with a tissue and asked one of the waiters to remove the punch—nobody wanted to drink wet concealer.

“Thanks, The wound on this works great for anything except make-up. My friend’s always nagging about how better it’ll be if the wands were a little thicker. But I guess it was an advantage now,” 

“I’m Taylor,” She introduced herself, her expression somehow thoughtful this time. “Taylor Pa--“

“Parker! Oh my god—“ Of course she was her. She was on the list Mr. Demaury had given me. She was few years younger in that photo and was a brunette. With my head drowning in sorrow no wonder I didn’t recognize her. ”Nice to meet you. Lucas Lallement,”

She squeezed my hand for a minute. “What brought you here?”

"I work for Tuner and CO,"

“Lucas?” That was Mr. Demaury’s voice. He was all of a sudden behind me scrutinizing my entire state: Champagne dripping from one of my arms, some concealer traces on my white shirt and looking all friendly with one of the clients of his rival Charles. Long story short, he wasn’t exactly the picture of pride and happiness.

“Mrs. Parker, nice to see you,” Even though he was clearly strained, he still greeted her friendly. “I hope Lucas didn’t cause any… uncalled-for trouble,”

“Not at all!” She beamed at him. “Your friend here was the biggest help. You're still a creative director ?”

“Still, yes.”

“We should meet sometime this week to further discuss the festive collection,” Her eyes flied to me this time. “With thicker wands, hm? Wednesday works for you?”

“Yeah---yeah sure,”

“Enjoy the party boys. See you around,”

The second she was out of our sight I inhaled to apologize to Mr. Demaury. I don’t think I fucked up seriously this time but a pre-emptive apology wouldn’t hurt. “I’m really —“

“I think I just got a campaign,”

“What?”

“She’s works for the _Shell;_ the makeup company in L.A. I think she just told me she wants me on her team,”

My eyes flew to the concealer Emma had given me. There, in a simple cultivated font five letters were written on the bottle: _SHELL._

Maybe I could get lucky, too.

*****

**Friday 23:34**

I was considering drinking concealer champagne to some very serious extents. 

You see I wasn’t usually possessive. Why? I was no longer in middle school obsessing over my first crush ever. I never pretended to be the owner of my boyfriends. I respected them as individuals who sometimes wanted to spend time with other people. I was mentally mature. That was until now.

Perhaps I was mentally mature because at the back of my mind I was aware that my boyfriends were committed to me, that no matter who they flirted with, at the end of the night they’d go home with me. Right now, seeing Mr. Demaury dancing closely with one of the girls who had been stalking him the entire night was really frustrating the fuck out of me.

Their noses were almost brushing. They were whispering to each other and laughing like destined lovers just reunited at the end of a 3 hour movie. I was sitting at a table, all lone, looking just as grumpy as I felt. I could hear her friends cooing about what a perfect couple they make. They _would_ make would be more correct and _No they wouldn’t!_

Excuse me girl get in the line! I was here before you. Dance with him all you want I can get his dick hard in two seconds.

I poured myself a glass of red wine, watching as the song turned into something even more romantic. She seemed to enjoy it; her plump red lips stuck on the vowel ‘o’, begging my boss to kiss him. Mr. Demaury was being extra polite, putting distance between them each time she had any vain attempt to seal their lips together.

She didn’t stand a chance against me. Good.

*****

**Saturday 02:18**

The gala eventually ended with a huge check donated to a Phillips Turner, the biggest shareholder in the company. I, who was deprived of Mr. Demaury’s even smallest attention found it a relief. I couldn’t wait to call in sick for the next convention.

I shoved my hands in my pocket and stepped outside without even saying goodbye to him. I would get mad at him and curse him like a cheated wife. I was in no position to that. We were just two people who occasionally fucked at office. This party was great actually. It taught me how different we were.

I walked outside, aimed for the same bus station I had used the very evening. After that I would take the subway home and sleep until tomorrow afternoon. I couldn’t wait for the emotional crisis after it.

I passed the mansions and hotels, humming to myself the melody of the songs that were played that night. At least the band was worth-the-while. I closed my eyes, dug a way into my brain to review the night; seeing if I had been delusional but from what I remembered his eyes had been on me few times. I knew I was being miserable—holding onto two good seconds against the four cruel hours. But that was how I had gotten. It was 2 a.m. in the morning, I had been feeling down for a few hours, I had been quiet for the past two and I was two hours away from home. I didn’t hold that much power over my mind in those moments.

I sat in the bus station, hands freezing cold. The rain was still going at it—much weaker than hours ago but my hair was already getting wet. Maybe I should’ve taken an Uber—ah shit my phone was still dead. I was also far away from the mansion party; there was no-one in the sight I could use to help me with getting a ride.

I was so reckless sometimes. I laid my head back against the bench, closed my eyelids to let them rest.

*****

**Saturday 02:45**

“Lucas?”

I realized that I had been sleeping. Then with a vague understanding I noticed the sound of rain and a distant light of a street lamp. What time was it? My lids were too heavy already. And it was 99 percent my ears tricking me so I closed my eyes again.

Then another voice came; a loud car horn that had me sitting sharp instantly. Then there was the same voice, calling my name. I lifted my sleepy eyes under the heavy weight of consuming exhaustion only to be greeted by Mr. Demaury. He was in his car, window down and looking at me. 

“Hop in,” He invited me, extending his arm from the driver seat all the way across to open the passenger door.

“I’m waiting for the bus,” I sounded so sleepy my words seemed to be tied together.

He said something but over the loud creaking of thunder I missed it. I stood up to walk to his car, bending down near the pulled down window to politely refuse his offer. “I don’t want to trouble you. I’ll be fine,”

“You’re not. It’s 3 a.m. and the ride to your home is two hours. It’s not safe,”

I rubbed at my eyes to see him more clearly. He was still in the same suit from the evening. He still looked fresh, even his hair was perfect. How was it possible? Maybe he used that 75 dollars’ bottle of shampoo I had mocked. Why not, he was rich. I was probably soaked with dark bags under my eyes.

“I’ll be alright. Thanks. I won’t bother you,” the rain was pouring now. With little grace I took of my coat to hold it as a shelter umbrella above my head. It was a beautiful coat and it deserved better but at that point I had little choice; it was either getting a cold or ironing it later. I chose the former.

“Why are you so stubborn?” He sighed. “I’m not asking you. It’s an order,”

“It’s officially weakened. You can’t order me around on—“ I sneezed. A giant sneeze that had my entire head space reseting. “Sorry,” I sniffed, “You can’t order me around on weekends,”

“Do you want to get sick?”

“Do you care if I get sick?”

That caught him off-guard. He became quiet, his mouth in a pout two seconds ago now forming a straight line. “Just get inside,” That was so quiet I don’t even understand how I heard it. His look was so honest, and that yes sounded so much like a plea. I would blame it on the rain later but right now, maybe I just wanted to be the one he ended the night with. It was all my selfishness that opened the door and sat next to him. He was fast to take my jacket, throwing it on the back seat before wrapping me in his overcoat. Only then I realized I had been shivering. My nose and ears felt cold and dead. How had I been sleeping with this state?

He turned on the car heater before driving off. “My phone’s in the front pocket. Text your friends you’ll spend the night with me,”

“with you?”

“I have a place in the Scarsdale. You take a shower there and rest. If you’re feeling better tomorrow you can take your precious bus,”

There was so much news and discrepancies in those few sentences I didn’t even know how to analyze it. First, he cared about me enough to actually take me home. Second, he was considering enough to count my friends as human beings. Third, he wanted to me to rest. In his house. With him by my side. And finally, he tried to pretend it had all been meaningless emotions by adding that sarcastic remark in the end.

I knew Arthur’s number, I texted him something quick, something that didn’t require any future interrogation.

_It’s me, Lucas. My phone’s dead. I won’t be coming home tonight. Don’t worry._

My reply came faster than expected.

_Lol, whose phone is this? you getting laid? Cool_

I deleted it swiftly before placing the cell phone back in the pocket, stealing glances at Mr. Demaury as he drove.

*****

**Saturday 03:15**

It had been awkward, having Mr. Demaury almost carrying my weight through all the stairs. The apartment was old and plain-looking considering the price of real-sate in that area. It had a minimalist décor, a tiny living room with one bed. I noticed that yes. The couches also didn’t look comfortable enough for sleeping. I was freaking about having to share a bed with him after all the sex we’ve had, huh?

I sighed, enjoying the last golden seconds of hot water before stepping out of the shower, wrapping myself in a towel he’d carefully placed there. I could hear him outside in the kitchen, boiling the water to—was he actually making tea for me now? What were now, boyfriends?

This was so confusing.

I started to get changed. He’d placed a pair of pajama pants and a sweater on the bed for me. They were his size—not big enough for me to get lost in but not a great fit either, especially the pants. I had just gotten dressed when he stepped inside, a cup of warm drink in his hand. “It’s not delicious but it does magic,”

“Thanks,” I took the cup from him, holding it close to my nose, sniffing the scent. Even without consuming it, the thick scent was already helping the slight soreness in my throat. “And I’m sorry. I ruined your night. I’m certain this is not the way you thought you’d spend the night. I should’ve been more thoughtful— keeping enough battery to at least call an Uber,”

“It’s alright,” He squeezed my arm, too friendly. This was not us. I always had the tendency to like the 2-3 a.m. version of people more. They were more honest, more vulnerable, more true to themselves. I could see now, how the well-adjusted mask was falling off even if it were for a second. He usually did everything with a fastidious attention to all the details, even if it meant the burden of solitude and excessive responsibility.

“Thank you,” It was the hundredth time I said those words that night.

He helped me to the bed, turning on the bed-side lamp and shutting off the light. I, sitting on the edge of bed with my back turned to him, felt the mattress dipping as he also decided to join me. I drank the herbal tea, even pretending I was still drinking after it was finished. It was just him, OK? Get a grip of yourself man.

I gingerly placed the cup on the small bed-side table, finally swallowing my anxiety to get under the blanket with him.

“You’re not cold? I could readjust the radiator,” He suggested.

“No it’s fine,” I chewed my lips. I could use some extra warmth but It was probably too hot for him now anyways. He was in nothing but a thin T-shirt and a pair of shorts and I could see a shimmer of sweat on his forehead. 

Then we were sitting in silence and if you’re wondering, it was such an awkward silence. Well, at least for me. Mr. Demaury was on his cell phone, reading something with extra devoted focus.

“This is not your main apartment, is it?”

“No,” He didn’t lift his eyes from his phone.

“It’s a nice neighborhood,” Bravo. Was I making small talk now? Let’s make it more challenging.“Do you use it for one night stands?”

“The neighborhood? That’ll be a lot of sex,”

I had to chuckle at that. He smiled, too. “No, I… I haven’t brought anyone here. You're the first,”

“Nobody?”

“The first,” He repeated himself, placing his phone aside, lying on his side and closing his eyes.

I tuned off the lamp next to me, getting cozy under the covers facing him. Now with the lights off I got the courage to shift closer and press a kiss to his pouted lips. I don’t know why but perhaps I believed if I did it in the dark it wouldn’t count. When I wanted to pull back he restricted me with the weight of his hands on my side. His grip was too strong for someone who was sleepy and although his eyes were still close, I was certain he was fully awake.

That meant he wanted me there.

I inched even closer, hiding my face in his neck and closing my eyes. Sleep claimed me faster than it had in months.


	9. This is where I live... Sometimes

**Saturday 10:32**

I woke up twice last night. Sleeping all those years in Mika’s apartment with a broken heater and recently sharing bed with all sort of insects and spiders in Emma’s apartment, it seemed my body was quite unaccustomed to a comfortable bed setting.

First time, it was because of a pleasant feeling. Mr. Demaury’s hand had slipped under my shirt and it was so warm. I could hear the rain still pouring outside. I fit both of my finger-curled hands further more between us, nuzzling my head to his chest liked a cold puppy. He held me tighter. I wanted to remain awake and relish the moment but I was not successful. I went to sleep with a smile on my face.

The second time it was twilight or early morning. I actually dared to open my eyes. More awake than the last time yet still surrendered to sleep. It was his alarm clock. “Who even has an alarm clock on Saturday? Turn it off,” I mumbled, fishing my head under the blanket.

“Are you getting all grumpy now?”

“Turn it off!” I actually kicked his leg from where it was tangled in mine.

There was a laugh and a shift in the mattress but I was asleep again in no time.

The third time, which was now, I woke up alone. This time my mind was completely up, noting in the unfamiliar surrounding before suddenly remembering _this is not my room._ I sat up quickly, taking up the oversized outfit I had, my suit neatly folded at the end of the bed and ruffled sheet next to me. Where was I?

_I have a place in the Scarsdale. You take a shower there and rest._

Oh yes. Right.

The house was strangely quiet. Was I alone? Was he in the shower? I craned my neck, taking a glimpse of the bathroom but it was empty. I left the bedroom on tiptoe, finding my hypothesis correct. The apartment was indeed empty.

I did want to leave but my jacket was still wet and it would be very rude of me to leave without any notice, especially after him taking care of me last night. Maybe he wanted me to leave anyway and that was the reason he had disappeared earlier. But no, that didn't sound like him.

At first I just sat on a small sofa in the living room, allowing my eyes to roam around the apartment. It was a minimalist house but despite the foreign design of his office, it felt so—personalized. There were traces of him on everything—the walls were plain of wallpaper and they were so artistically used as the canvass themselves. How much he must have paid to hire an artist to paint the walls personally? My curiosity eventually won the best of me, forcing me to take a walk around the house.

He also owned tons of records, from gramophones to CDs to just vacant covers. His taste was also very unique—Where I would I have sorted as a classic jazz fan; his most rusty covers were from _Burial_. I actually knew the band from the times in college where my friends would throw some wilder parties. It made me laugh, I would’ve never taken him for a dubstep fan. The rest of his records were mostly classic hits, from 60s to 80s. I took one of the older covers out, not expecting it to be actually a wrapping paper. The three cassettes inside it fell on the floor. One of them survived the fall but the other two—well. They were old. One of them ended up with a broken case and the other sported a displaced supply reel. I muttered a few curses under my breath, trying to fix them but It was useless. Defeated, I just put them in their place and put as much distance between the shelves and I. There was no cassette player in the room so I hoped he wouldn’t notice them for some time.

I continued to tour the house, there was another room in the apartment but it was locked. Then I went to the kitchen, where except for drinks, gums and some conserves it was drain of anything. This wasn’t his main apartment, was it?

“You are awake,”

I was so taken back I almost fell. Was he a phantom?

“You scared me,” I said.

“This is my own apartment. I thought I’d be expected,”

“Yes but so is the sound of key clicking,” I answered him, taking in the casual look of my boss. He looked so normal right now, in just a hoodie and jeans with grocery bags. It was so incongruous with what I’d seen from him. Still more attractive than the guys who normally approached me but I could see myself attempting to start a small talk with him in the supermarket.

“Well next time try to listen more carefully,”

“Next time?” I sounded way too hopeful for what I liked and his face revealed he’d noticed too.

“I meant in general. Try to pay more attention to the world around you,” He expressed with amusement as he saw my pout. “I bet you haven’t even looked outside the window to at least get a vague idea of where you are right now,”

Did he have camera installed in the house? “Yes I did,” I retorted.

He chuckled, taking one after one item out of the grocery back and placing them on the counter. “Well then where is the bakery?”

I got busted but I wasn't about to admit. “Across the street?”

“You could just admit I had point here,” He took a bag fresh croissants out and I swear my nostrils flared the size of window then.

“I had a glance outside, but not a thorough one.” I explained myself because I was not going to give him the satisfaction of righteousness. “I don’t remember,”

“So my comment the other day about your memory was right?”

Look at him, all so proud and full of himself for misinterpreting everything and taking advantage of my words. “Hey!” I voiced out, displaying an exaggerated hurt face that made him almost laugh. “I am perfectly normal. You’re the one with James Bond style ram as memory who’s constantly looking for ways to display his perfectionism,”

“Did you just admit I’m perfect?” He wiggled his eyebrows and oh my god—

I actually hit him slightly with my elbow from where we were standing. It was playful. We were running a conversation quite easily but he was still my boss so I couldn’t call him “Annoying brat” face to face. He gave me a pretty warm smile, the one that has eyes wrinkling at the end. I wish I had the bravery to kiss him then. Just few centimeters between us, in such a domestic setting. It wouldn’t be so out of place. He was gazing down at me. Was he thinking the same? His eyes were certainly on my lips. But think beyond the moment Lucas. This was like a holiday, a daydream in summer that would shatter as soon as the first leaf falls. I was the first to look elsewhere, stealing a chocolate bar from his bag to distract myself from what I was dying to do.

He seemed disappointed, but his smile didn’t falter much. He filled a kettle with water and then put it on the oven as I but into the bitter chocolate. “So…breakfast?”

*****

**Saturday 11:04**

“Did you go through my records?”

_Merde._

“What?” I pretended to be surprise but I was never a really good actor. Erase that. I was awful. I clutched to my second of cup of coffee that day. I was just about to excuse myself, get dressed up and leave but I was once again in trouble. I should be used to that by now, shouldn’t I?

“It took me days to organize those records based on the exact date I purchased each of them,” He took one of the ones I had actually checked out, holding it up to me. “This one’s misplaced,”

I could deny it. I had to—he would discover the cassettes soon as well. That would just be twice the punishment for one crime. “Well I was all alone. My phone’s dead, there’s no TV here, there is only water and beans in the fridge so I can’t really blamed,” I averted my gaze from his eyes.

He hummed, registering my words. “Went through the kitchen cabinets as well I see. Did you like any of my collection?”

“A few,” I shrugged, finishing my coffee in one ago and placing it in the sink, standing near the counter to address him. He didn’t say anything and the silence was getting uncomfortable. I kept my eyes on the ground. “However there’s room for improvement,”

That seemed to brighten up his mood, make him startled enough to put the CD back in a complete different row. I could be surprising, too. And I was being honest here. Dubstep and Hip Hop? What if he wanted a host an evening cocktail party?

“Some of these records are signed, you know that?”

“Signature doesn’t add to the value of music. It’s only for credibility,” The frivolous smirk was removed from his face. It was replaced with a more serious frown. “I merely prefer some genres over the others and your collection didn’t meet those. But in my personal opinion there is always some room to experience new music,”

He reached behind himself, taking a cigarette out of his bag pocket to take a quick puff. His focus was undividedly on me. Not that there was anything distracting going on around us but there also wouldn’t be. There wouldn’t be no meeting, no schedules, no-one surprising us at the door. It was just _us_. Us and an entire day ahead of us—if we wanted to.

“What do _you_ think adds to the value of music?”

“Value? to me it’s honesty. Once you hear honest music you are past the point of return. There is little to zero chance of you finding peace at anything shallower,”

He nodded, before challenging me further. “Define honest and shallow,”

I ran my hands through my hair, biting my lips to find the most specific explanation. “By honest I mean its power of expressing my emotions in that very moment. I am somewhat a temperamental person most of the times but even though I can be moody, some songs reach so deep within me they are permanently relatable, like an old friend. Am I making sense?” I could see him contemplating my imperfect show of describing my thoughts. I often thought about what I was saying but to actually deliver thoughts to words without ambiguity was a difficult task. He nodded, lost on his cigarette or my words I didn’t know. “That is honesty to me. And as for shallow—I am not absolutely naming any type of music shallow. I’m saying anything that fails to form this connection with me is shallower. I have had songs I listen to in the times I was happiest and when I was in peace, yet those were the same stuff I reached out to in my darkest. I think that matters. They don’t have any signatures on them. They’re just on my phone so they don’t even exist in material but still,” I exhaled shakily. I almost said that part in such a rush I wasn’t certain if he heard it all.

Hands to his side now, he was no longer leaning on the shelf. There It was again. That spark. The depth in his eyes I often saw at the office. “Like what.”

That was it? I had spoken three full paragraph and all he wanted was an example. Was this how my teachers felt when after hours of explaining something an example did a better job at delivering the lesson? All respect to them for not kicking us in the head.

“Like I don’t know—any song that ever had you going _oh_ when it was being played,” The more I talked, the more idiotic I felt. Or at least misrepresented—by myself. He quirked an eyebrow, asking me to actually sing them? Was he being serious or was he trying to prank me? If this was a joke I would shut the door and leave, for good. But if he was being serious I couldn’t portray myself as someone who was so intimated by him to be shy about singing. This was my doing. If I had just kept my hands to myself and left the records alone I wouldn’t have to go through this. Even worse. I was the one to so openly criticize his taste. “Like you know… some Pink Floyd hits are really eternal,”

“Pink Floyd?”

 _OK this was it. Fine. Whatever. It wouldn’t be more embarrassing than him understanding I broke his cassettes. “Yeah. This one they had Lost in thought and lost in time_  
 _While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted?_ ” I held onto the melody as much as I could but judging from that look, he had no idea what that song was.

“I haven’t heard it,” He confessed. Then quickly. “Continue,”

 _“Outside the rain fell dark and slow, while I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime? I took a heavenly ride through our silence. I knew the moment had arrived, for killing the past and...”_ And he was standing right in front of me all of a sudden. Indescribable face, tense torso and waiting for me to finish or wanting me to continue forever? He placed his cigarette on the counter behind me but his hand remained there, too close to me but not touching. I finished the lyrics with a barely audible voice. _“…Coming back to life,”_

And he kissed me, with such an intensity that had my entire body surrendering in mere seconds. So we were allowed to check this box too; cuddling, domestic morning, croissant for breakfast and kissing in the kitchen after me expressing myself in ways I had not in the longest time. I wasn’t complaining, quickly opening my mouth under him, perhaps too eager but I’d shame myself for it later. I kissed him back just as wantonly, dangerously thrilled by the idea of that it was me he desired, not just the fact that he _desired._ He could have been with any of those perfect people at the event last night instead he chose to give me a lift despite me being all wet and sniffy.

It was better than all of our kisses yet. I did not waste a second, the second his lips were off mine to breathe I attached myself to his neck, inhaling his scent—soap and coffee and a hint of skin and it was seriously ridiculous how exotic the combination was. I nuzzled my face there, soon reaching with my hands to wrap them both around his neck, wanting him closer.

He didn’t disappoint me, tilting my head with to chase my lips. I arched my body towards him, silently asking him to do as he pleased. And he did, lifting me up with a neat move, carrying me all the way to the bedroom. It must have been difficult for him considering how hard I was kissing him. I wasn’t a caveman but damn when he displayed strength like that I certainly felt like half of sanity jump out of the window. I latched our lips together, hands holding his face with such a raw need that even when he wanted to lower me on the bedding he had to follow me.

“Fuck—“ He stumbled, causing us to fall in a mess of limbs that wasn’t sexy at all. I didn’t really care, watching on my back as he made a quick work of removing his hoodie. Just when I registered I had to some unclothing as well he was covering my body with his, denying me even the opportunity to voice out a protest.

Soon I felt him pulling the pajama bottoms down before taking his last fair share of kiss— _for now._ He went down on me with a predatory grin. It was better than all of them. He teased me this time, not just going at it as a means to an end. Licking my erection until my legs were trembling on his side, toes digging in the sheets. I closed my eyes, devouring the moment in the fullest. When would be the next time someone would put so much effort into pleasuring me?

He pulled down my pants the rest of the way and threw them in the corner before really going at it, kissing the inside of each of my thighs, my hips, the ticklish area at the bottom of my belly before finally showing me his mercy and putting his mouth where I needed it the most. He sucked me with the same tantalizing torture, slowly but constantly, making me turn into a moaning mess even though I was trying my best to keep quiet.

It wasn’t long before he was asking me for the lube and condoms in the bedside table. I provided him with them quickly. I wanted it too, _I needed it._

“I know, fuck, me too,”

Did I say that out loud?

His lips were once again worshiping my cock, then it was his fingers opening me. Soon from one to three. My body was too relaxed, too pliant and willing to resist that meant more of him. I had been lucky so far not to spill already—maybe it was the intensity I was still unaccustomed to.

A few minutes of constant and precise fingering with a warm mouth on me and I was imagining us from a third person point of view, how scornfully I was writhing plus the taut muscles in my neck from all the way I had extended it, how lost where my hands in the bed sheet, a minute clutching to this and the next punching weakly at that.

“Stop—I can’t—“ I voiced out, vigorously pulling him up even if he resisted for a second.

“Wanted to taste you—“ He was panting as though he’d run three kilometers without breaks, hair disheveled and lips puffy, spit running down on his chin. It made me even weaker than I already was. He was too much. Too much

“Not now—I want you in me,” I whispered, looking perhaps as wrecked as he was, or worse..

“Anything you want baby, anything you want—“ And he pushed in. Even with how prepared I was, how consenting, the tension overpowered my muscles. Mr. Demaury noticed it right away. His hooded eyes stayed on me, his lips peppering kisses on my cheek and hairline. I could feel his bliss, how he was dying to move but holding back. His sweaty palms were so shaky and uncertain from where he was taking a hold of my knees to adjust them.

He had called me _baby._ I tilted my head, finding his lips and brushed my lips against his, giving him the green light. “It’s alright,”

He didn’t require any more signs. He cradled my jaw with a hand, rested the other near my head as he slowly built his rhythm. We had fucked before, so many times. This was not fucking. I wouldn’t dare call it what I was thinking it was but he was making me feel so safe and unlike the times before I wasn’t so scared to be giving.

I would hate myself for it later but now was an exception. I could hate myself for millions of futures and millions of pasts. There was only one ‘now’ I experienced.

I held him, sheepishly splayed my fingers on the base of his skull, wrapped my legs high around his back and let go. He was thrusting faster now, touching me in all the right places inside and out. I was letting out this hitching gasps that turned higher and higher, they were so embarrassing to my own ears. I was perhaps alarming his neighbor. “You will be the death of me,” He choked out, breathlessly kissing my necks, wrapping a hand around my own erect cock and I spilled with two strokes, him following suit with a full body tremor.

I was still unable to unchain myself from him long after my orgasm had died. My mouth had never felt drier and I had never been blessed with a more pleasing ache.

*****

**Saturday 11:44**

“I noticed,” He said, so suddenly just minutes after we both came from out height. He had tossed the condom in the bathroom, offered me a towel to clean up and now he was opening the curtain, still fully naked. I probably didn’t have much cleaning to do, most of my stupid come had landed on the sweater he’d given me. We were in too much hurry to bother with it. Still I appreciated the extra attention.

“Noticed what?”

“That you broke my cassettes,” He shrugged, wearing his boxer and jumping on the bed next to me.

“Ugh,” I hid my face with my hands, overacting in-order to escape the detention that I seriously deserved. “I lost counts of how many times I apologized to you… It would be funny if it weren’t so mortifying,”

“That was actually Pink Floyd,” He snickered.

“Seriously?” I lifted my head, watching the amused grin on his face from where he was staring down on me with head propped on his elbow. “I broke sacred relicts then. What a sin,”

He hummed with an overemphasized frown. “What can we do now, to punish you properly?” He questioned though he didn’t look insulted at all. “Perhaps we must have you enduring my music,” and before I could even react, he had his phone out of nowhere, playing one of the loudest and most irreconcilable electronic music I’ve ever heard. In a vain attempt, when I tried to reach for it he threw it at the bottom of the bed. Even more selfish of him, when I wanted to steak across him, he restrained me using his whole body weight as a cage. There it was gain, the victorious gin.

“Seriously?” I had to put all my power to refrain from rolling my eyes.

“It’s very honest to me,” He declared, smiling when he bent down to kiss me.

*****

**Sunday 15:12**

“Lucas, are you fucking high again? At least give me some, too!” It was Emma.

“What the fuck you’re pregnant!” Arthur said that before I could.

“That means I have a baby in my stupid belly not my head. Duh!”

“I’m just tired,” I answered with a muffled voice, head buried into my pillow.

I was still wearing Mr. Demaury’s sweater. My shirt and coat were still damp when he had dropped me off in the subway station. He was kind enough to offer a ride home but I refused. It would seriously mess with my head—and I knew those two meddling roommates of mine were probably glued to the window to see if my one-night-stand would be interested enough to actually walk me home.

I could hardly keep Emma out of it and Arthur was worse than her sometimes.

Mr. Demaury had not kissed me goodbye but he’d fixed my hair with a stifled smile, telling me we’d meet soon and making my heart explode to million pieces once he opened my seat belt for me. He was turning soft and soft _only_ for me. He was still the same cold boss with an unapproachable idealist demeanor. It made me feel special, in fact so special I had actually beamed with all my teeth when Emma asked me about my weekend.

I had returned yesterday evening, after two more rounds of sex in Mr. Demaury’s apartment. We’d talked and ate in-between them. I even showed him a few movie trailers in case he was free next weekend. Honestly we acted totally like lovers.

However, there was a big question on my mind.

Was this only for the weekend and tomorrow he’d act as though nothing had ever happened or he’d spoil me more?

_*New message, Arrogant loser: I sent you a file, I want It summarized by tomorrow afternoon._

*****

**Monday 10:32**

For once he’d arrived before I had. I could hear him—he wasn’t alone. There was a heated argument going on behind those doors. I knew the other voice, Mr. Munier, the other creative director. His, well, rival. What they were competing for, I did not know. I mean looking at their career so far, Eliott had such a bright prosperous campaigns in his resume. I hadn’t observed Mr. Munier’s profile in full detail but just judging from the numbers, he was far behind my boss.

And now with _Shell_ wanting Eliott on their team, he would lose a two million-dollar client. No wonder they sounded like they were about to duel. Did I just call him Eliott? _Mr. Demaury._

It was one final _fuck off_ that put an end to all their quarrel. Then there was utter suspicious quiet. Even others at our floor seemed to be shocked by the sudden silence. It was my telephone which broke the teetering peace.

“Mr. Demaury from Demaury and Turner, who is this?”

“Connect me to Eliott,” I didn’t recognize that voice. “It’s urgent,”

“I’m afraid I can’t miss. He’s meeting someone at the moment. You could leave a name and message for him—“

“It’s Lucille Turner, damn it! Tell him that and he’ll get his ass on the line!” She was yelling so loud I had to hold the phone few centimeters away from my ear. “My dad’s been waiting for three hours!”

Lucille Turner's dad? Her dad as in Phillip Turner? The Phillip? The senior shareholder. “OK,”I put her on hold, quickly pressing one to contact Mr. Demaury. It didn’t come off as a surprise when I realized he’d disconnected the phone.

With great and perhaps faux fortitude, I very quietly knocked on his door. “Yes?”

I opened the door, ignoring the pure stare of dissatisfaction Munier threw at me and instead focused on the familiar face behind him. It was the first time we’ve met since Saturday and he looked extra exhausted, nothing like the man I had spent the weekend with.

“Can’t you see I’m in an argument?”

Ouch. That stung. He didn’t have to say it with so much venom in his voice. But he had just been fighting with Charles and the man had a reputation wo be a jerk. I tried to think maturely and ignore the hurt that was flooding me.

“I’m sorry but a Lucille Turner called. She said her father’s been waiting for your call for hours. I did tell her it was in an inappropriate time but she was very angry,” I sounded so small under the two heavy gazes.

As if I had just entered the argument with new hot gossip and evidence Charles Munier just clapped his hands, laughing with a sudden lifted mood. “There you go Demaury, Daddy’s calling,”

He even winked at me while exiting.

“What should I tell her?” I asked my boss when Munier was no longer a threat to eavesdrop.

“Nothing. You’ve already opened that mouth of yours enough,” He growled at me, drinking the remaining alcohol in his glass in one go.

I could actually feel the tears at the corner of my eyes. _Of-fucking-course._ What the hell was I thinking? That we made love once and he was going to show up buying me roses and chocolate the next day? No. I just… I wanted him to be nicer. To be the way he was.

He grabbed his coat and left, not even bothering to look at me.

My mind flew back to Emma’s words from few days ago, _Sweetie I don’t want to be pessimistic but most of the times office sex doesn’t have chances out of those walls_. _You deserve a real thing if you like someone_


	10. Where are the keys?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late-ish update? I didn't know how to write this one ;//

**Monday 10:45**

“I do it,” Maybe I didn’t want to, but my rage was getting the best of me. Who was he? I worked for him, I wasn’t his damned slave. Bosses talked to their employees like that but he—we—we were different. The way he made love to me, that was not just a fuck. I may be young, I maybe inexperienced, I maybe optimistic but … somethings you know. _And I knew._

“Wow. Well, okay,” Saetre was surprised that I had burst into her office without notice. If anything, despite her seeing I was a bit outraged, she wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past her. She quickly reached for the yellow folder at the top of her drawer, pulling the single sheet of paper out of it and placing it on her desk. “Are you sure you’re not willing to change anything?”

“No. Nothing,” I swiftly grabbed the pen she was offering me and signed the bottom of the page. I did not even bother to do it one more time. “It’s not like I’m going to tell everyone how he mistreated me,” I signed the bottom of the page before giving it to her. I sniffed, holding the tears inside. She found my face and her eyes relentlessly stayed on mine. 

“Is there anything I should know?” She sounded concerned. I was used to her demanding and powerful tone so much I was actually overwhelmed to hear that.

“No,” I lied, noting how quivering I sounded.

She squeezed my arm in a friendly manner nevertheless. “Alright. Go home. Take the day off,”

“But—“

“Mr. Demaury’s gone for the day. So should you,”

And I didn’t argue further.

*****

**Monday 19:03**

I checked my phone for the third time in that past minute. Nothing. I opened up the Instagram, absolutely envying my friends back home. Look at Yann, going on dates with her new girlfriend, Manon’s career absolutely blossoming with her new articles in _Libération_ _politique_ , even Basile had his own little farm now—he seemed to be living on the moon.

Yet here I was, undergoing an existential crisis because of some guy I wasn’t even dating. Emma, poor girl was attending me every other hour, asking me if I wanted something to drink, if I was interested in watching a movie with her, if I even wanted to hang out outside. I faked a smile, shaking my head with a simple no thanks before going to back to my own task—which was doing nothing.

Arthur arrived about that time, too cheerful that Emma had to shut him up.

“What, What’s going on?” He asked her, voice low.

“Are you seriously asking me? You work in the same office. How did you not notice him leaving early? Especially when he looks like that?”

“What he’s fired—ouch! Stop pinching me I am being quiet…”

And she must have dragged him away from my room because I no longer heard them.

*****

**Tuesday 12:34**

I was playing with my food in the canteen. I usually ate in a heartbeat and go to Mr. Demaury’s office to make use of the time. And here I was. Basically sitting there for the past thirty minutes and trying to beat my high score on a game which I was failing at miserably.

Boss-ass fucker had taken Tuesday and Wednesday off as well. What was he doing? I opened my messenger; I had sent five texts to his ‘professional’ number in which he responded with a sole ‘OK’. And three to his 'other' number. ‘ _Where are you’ ‘Can we talk’ ‘Are you alright’?_

I had received zero replies. And I was not about to become that clingy to actually send him another text. I deserved an explanation—as his damned employee.

I placed my phone down before deciding fuck it. I started to actually eat my lunch. It had run pretty cold by that time but It was still better than nothing. The cafeteria was quite crowded by now but I didn’t miss the way Saetre entered it with an absolutely blissful smile on her face. She seemed to have just won to lottery. What was she so happy about? Did she hate Eliott so much she was having a blast because of his absence? Maybe—they seemed friendly but I could see her rolling her eyes at him every once in a while. Then the big surprise came out—Arthur. He entered the door just seconds after her. Great. Emma was officially playing my mom. Not only attending to me at home like a sick school boy, now actually sending Arthur to eat with me? It was not like I had gotten dumped by my boyfriend of three years.

Just when I was about to prepare my speech about how they needed to stop making dramas of my life I saw him walking behind Saetre. He was fixing his hair and his shirt and smiling in a bight way. Wait—Did Arthur have a _crush_ on her? She had to be a lesbian, right?

He hadn’t seen me yet and I wasn’t about to give up the chance to have some dirt on him. I hid my face behind a menu and watched those two. Arthur touched her arm—too comfortably as if it just came to him. She didn’t even flinch, just twinkled even more, tugging at the bottom of her hair with the flirtiest gesture I had ever seen on her. They were talking so close to each other I actually anticipated a kiss. I was disappointed when they both ordered a take out, and exited _together._

Were they friends? Did she like him, too? Were they dating?

It wasn’t really my business but I welcomed the unforeseen distraction.

*****

**Thursday 7:56**

I had a feeling today Mr. Demaury would make his dramatic return in his own stylish way— yell at few people, edit and review literally anything that was done by his team again _just in case_ and ask for his second bitter espresso by the time it wasn't even 9:00.

I wasn't discouraged.

For the first time in the last three month I was working for him he arrived sharp at 8 a.m. "Espresso," was all he said before disappearing behind the wooden door of his office. I was perhaps too exuberant to see him despite him ghosting me for the past two days. For a minute I actually felt butterflies in my belly just from the insufficient glance I had at him for two seconds.

On my way to get his coffee I was deciding whether or not mention anything about what happened on Monday. He certainly didn't look like he had a fantastic pair of days. So there were two scenarios left for me; either his little vacation had been so terrible I couldn't ruin his mood by saying anything or the second I overstepped a boundary he'd lash out. Any time the latter had happened we ended up having some of the best sexes of my life. So the answer was pretty obvious, I had to confront him.

"Your coffee," I sounded excited. Why did I sound so excited. ugh.

"Place it on my desk and you can leave," He was trying to get a file opened in the projector installed at the end of the conference table— his back to me. It was easier to actually get to my point without his eyes on me.

"I wanted to talk about something,"

"What is it?"

"It's about Monday,"

His hunched shoulders stilled for a second before he resumed his work, hopelessly searching every folder on his flash memory without taking his eyes off the screen. "I had to meet someone. As far as I'm concerned you also took the day off,"

"Yes but—"

"But what?" He suddenly turned around, arms crossed and facing me with a deadly face. There was a stern glare in his eyebrows but his eyes were so tired and red, as though he hadn't slept the night before.

"You look so exhausted…so..." My eyes drifted lower, to his bandaged wrist. I had wondered previously why was he wearing a trench coat when it wasn't really a cold day. "What’s that?"

"Nothing," He lied.

I ignored him— eyes drifting to his forearm again. There was an ugly purple bruise there, fresh and swollen still, inflamed and obviously very poorly taken care of. My legs took me to him on their own accord. I did see him resisting from the corner of my eyes, trying to pull back his hand from me but I was quicker than him, denying him with a fast pull of sleeve.

I had his right palm in mine. It was radiating enough heat for me to retreat my hand on reflex but I refrained. I made a quick work of undoing the clearly unsafe bandage before tossing it on the ground.

"How do you call this nothing?" I gestured to the almost hematoma forming under the surface of his skin, the skin wasn't cut through which was fortunate but the areas in which the tissue was more deformed. It was already starting to stink— with dead blood and bacteria.

"Do I need to spell nothing for you? I'm fine,"

"You're clearly not,"

"Are you a doctor?"

"Are you five?"

He jerked his hand away from my grip. "What were you going to say about Monday?"

"It doesn't matter now. You need proper care—"

"Then you are excused!" His voice was so cold I feared perhaps the last few weeks were nothing but a dream. Something else was bothering him—whatever it was, it was not me. But It gave him absolutely no passing to speak to me in that manner.

"Then I quit!"

That had him yielding, putting his shield and armor down to look at me. Actually look at me. He still held resemblance to an angry raccoon but the hurt puppy was emerging, too. "If you want me to leave, I do you a favor and leave for good. Is that what you want?"

His jaw clenched for a second before shaking his head as no.

"Now I'm going to get a first-aid kit and you're going to have to tolerate my awfully basic medical skill,"

*****

**Thursday 8:32**

"Well?" I asked again, pouring some more betadine on the cotton I had already placed on the wounds. I wasn't a professional but I had learnt the basics from high school and uni. If anything, compared to him I was a perfect doctor. I was dawdling on purpose, attending the areas of skin that wasn’t hurt at all. He was tamed for now, allowing me to inspect him from up close. In that proximity I could also see a scar on the side of his lips. It was impossible to notice it from anywhere further than two meters’ distance. It wasn’t caused by a fight. His hand however, those knuckles were thrashed. “Are you going to tell me how this happened?”

“Take a guess,”

“You mugged a few middle schoolers and in the end they were the ones who made you look worse,”

He snorted mirthlessly. “That could actually be true,”

I cleaned the tissue once more with a sanitized cotton before wrapping it with a clean secure bandage, nothing like flimsy cloth that was previously holding it together.

“Would you be sad if I quit?” I found myself asking, all of a sudden filled with a bravery that perhaps the thought of losing him brought me. “Or at least concerned?”

“Why’d you ask if you know the answer?” His eyes looked at me, so serene and innocent like they were years younger than the rest of him. In that moment he was just Eliott, someone who was waiting for me to clean his scarred hand and not the usual astute businessman. I leaned towards him, filled with the need to reassure myself I still had him. And just when our lips were about to meet he turned his face away.

“No,”

What? “What?” I balked.

“I… this is wrong.” He abruptly stood up, his hands restless, a minute running through his hair and rubbing at his face and the next fixed on his wait. “We can’t do this anymore,”

“What do you mean? Did I do something wrong?”

“No—It’s—not you. It’s _for_ you. This will be disadvantageous for both of us. Let’s forget what was there and focus on what’s the head of us,” He dismissively gestured to the new folder on his desk. “You were really helpful at the ball. The _Shell_ cosmetics is a five-million contract that would really aggrandize my position in the company. I couldn’t have had it on my desk if it weren’t for you and I really appreciate your progress in the last three months. I wouldn’t want to lose it because—“

I knew where this was going. I wasn't interested hearing more.

“I get it,” I interrupted him, voice shaky with effort. “I understand _sir_ ,”

He opened his mouth but then closed it, the restlessness replaced with the same old clenched jaw and lifeless brows knitted too close to each other. “I’m glad then,” He avoided my eyes and his smile was so destitute and fake.

I could feel my heart sinking down to my stomach and then splitting into two pieces, running down my legs until it was spread out at the floor beneath my shoes. How could he be so cruel? How could I be so naïve? Stupid, stupid boy. _You have a big heart Lu; It’ll get your heart broken if you don’t separate the good fellas from the bad_ Yann said that to me after the first time I got dumped and he repeated in different set of words each time I was yet again treated like shit by someone I did not expect. He was right. I had been hit by the same car many times—give them an ocean of yourself and receive a droplet instead and then trick yourself to see than minuscule far more than its actual size.

I couldn’t bear to be near him now. _At least pretend to be sad you asshole._ I felt my tears at the bay, threatening to expose me any second now. I couldn’t be that. I couldn’t let him see my vulnerability again, he had already seen so much of me.

“I’m outside if you need me,” My voice sounded so shaky. I didn’t miss how my chin was quivering with regret and sorrow but for now, I allowed myself to at least have that.

*****

**Friday 20:12**

Tonight was Nick’s Halloween party. Three weeks I was so excited to go. I even had a costume prepared; nothing special, just a medieval dress shirt with a wooden sword. The leggings that came with it were very tight and I previously had some wicked plans to send a few selfies of me in them to Mr. Demaury but now they seemed like a waste of time. Who would even care for those honestly. Nick had invited his Internet influencer friends, like Instagram model friends. I was pretty certain I was going to be like Cady's zombie bride in _Mean girls_ Halloween party compared to them.

“Why are you not dressed yet?” Arthur asked me and OK. Maybe I wasn’t going to be the zombie bride of the film with Arthur’s weird costume being there. What was that even supposed to be?

“What the hell is that?” He had the lightest shade of powder on his face—flour if you ask me—with a vampire eye makeup but his dress belonged to Merlin the wizard. It even had _wizard_ written on it. Over all he resembled a possessed college student who had run away from graduation party after three weeks of straight insomnia.

“I’m count Dracula,”

“A broke grandfather suffering from crippling infection is what you are,” Emma joined him at the door, putting on her earrings. She was just as absurd with her long spidery eyelashes and a t-shirt that said _‘Pretend it’s a costume’_

“At least I’m putting in some effort,” He replied. “I know it’s not perfect but guaranteed half of the guests are going to go be there dressed half-naked as Game of Thrones characters,”

“True. Nick’s friends are gorgeous.” Emma confirmed him, nodding pensively before her eyes caught the clock on the wall. “Shit. We’re going to be late. Listen you,” She pointed to me. “Get your head out of your ass. Sitting around all day in a bed won’t solve your problems,”

I rolled my eyes at them, displaying the most infuriated and exhausted face I could pull before grabbing at the tunic and boots. I just hoped my social battery wouldn’t run out. “Nor will partying with literal strangers,”

“No. But it will get your mind off them,” Arthur explained with his palm extended in a _duh_ gesture.

I hoped. I seriously did.

*****

**Friday 22:16**

I didn’t want to be here.

At first It was capable of being called fun but then it gradually aggravated. Arthur seemed to be having fun. He did not miss one of Nick’s special Halloween plates and I was quite astonished he hadn’t vomited considering how much he’d eaten. Then there was Emma, engaging in serious relationship advice conversations with girls who were going nuts over how smart her T-shirt was and were having the time of their life joking about how each of them saw different costumes on her.

Nick seemed occupied enough saving his house from being burnt and exploded. He gave me a hug when I entered and told me we’d catch up but all I could see now was a defended expression on his face as some of his guests were putting on his different aprons and taking selfies.

I was squished together with two people making out on the couch next to me. They were dressed as Regina George and Shrek and fuck it almost gave me heart attack when I noticed that. At least not anyone was invested in me—dressed in a hamlet gown and looking like a depressed bankrupted Hamlet after his third divorce in the same month, I was the last person to party with.

How could he say that to me?

And here I was being munched alive by anxiety in the middle of a party that was supposed to help me forget its very cause in the first place.

It wasn’t very successful now, was it?

_A five-million contract that would really aggrandize my position in the company—_

I needed to get drunk. Or high. Or asleep.

I was at a party so the first two options wouldn’t be so unachievable.

I stepped out of the living room with a sluggish walk. I found the strongest bottle of alcohol I could find and to my absolute luck- or misery it was almost full. I drank straight from the bottle. These people didn’t know me and I hoped those who did would stop me if they saw. I drank and drank until the loud music from speakers were nothing but a background pulse in my ear and the people dancing about the apartment seemed like a faraway slow motion movie. My ears were buzzing and I could feel my throat burning with the hot taste of alcohol.

Suddenly Nick’s apartment was too small, too crowded. It was suffocating me—I could feel the walls closing around me. I blinked a few times, trying to remember where the damned door was when a pair of arms held me just when my legs were about to give out,”

“Hey, you OK?”

“—Tired,” I mumbled and I sounded so hoarse. I didn’t know him. He was muscly with big hands and round eyes, a hint of a smile apparent on his face with a huge neon ring around his neck. “This isn’t a neon party why are you wearing this? That’s so dumb,”

He laughed at that, from my comment or the fact that I sounded so hoarse and deep that he didn’t understand anything at all I don’t know. “Wow, how much did you drink?”

“Nick’s stuff is so weak—what is that, five percent?” I scrutinize the bottle. Yes, five it was. “Apple juice is stronger than this,”

“You’re cute,” He was truly enjoying my tipsy talking. “What’s your name?”

*****

**Friday 22:34**

I don’t remember much. I recall him asking me if I wanted to get out of there and I told him I live just under the stairs. He was surprised but welcomed it anyway, kissing me all the way down stairs until we were against my apartment door. I had the keys somewhere but my hands were busy being wrapped around him and he didn’t seem to believe me when I said I lived here. I wouldn’t believe me either.

He was mouthing at my neck when my phone vibrated. I ignored it in the beginning but it was really uncomfortable to stand the constant vibration against my butt. I pressed the phone to my ear without even checking the caller ID. “—m busy now,”

“Fuck you’re so hot,” The neon boy said in my ear, hands tight around the redundant puffy area at the bottom of my medieval tunic.

“W-Who is that?” That voice was familiar. It was fucking Demaury. What did he want now? I was just forgetting about him.

“I don’t know,” I honestly answered. The neon guy licked my earlobe, causing me to gasp right into the telephone. “But he’s good,”

“Where are you?”

“How’s that any business to you?”

He was silent for more than a few seconds. I was tempted to hang up before his response arrived. “Are you drunk?”

“This phone call seems so familiar, doesn’t it?” I gently pushed the guy off of me. He looked amused. “You’ve hurt me so much since then. I mean it was good for a while, wasn’t it? You were so so nice and good and then you had to prove you’re just another self-centered prick? What is your fucking deal huh? I’m done being someone’s sometimes so let me enjoy my weekends in peace,”

“You will regret talking to me like this when the morning comes,” 

“I won’t have to remember you until morning then. Good night,”

I furiously pushed the telephone in my back pocket, tip toeing to kiss the neon boy back but he pulled back. “What is it?” I questioned.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“He’s my boss,”

“That’s not how _I_ talk to my boss,”

I rolled my eyes, curling my fingers in his shirt and chased his mouth but he refused me still. What the fuck.

“I think you’re cute dude, but I don’t want to be used as a work-place drama rebound or whatever… I’m—I’m heading back up,”

And when he walked up the stairs I didn’t stop him.

Fuck Eliott Demaury. Even when he was not here he was making me feel despondent. Because of his stupid ass I had failed to even have a casual hook-up. I even failed to enjoy my friend’s party.

Weirdly enough, I found my keys with the first attempt this time. I opened the door and disappeared in my room.

*****

**Friday 23:09**

Emma being pregnant meant strictly no beer or wine or Carrots—whatever the fuck for and many other things. The strength of Nick’s wine was slowly dissipating and I was once again remembering why I needed to drink in the first place.

The sound of music was so loud from upstairs—it was a wonder the landlord hadn’t made them stop. Arthur and Emma often nagged about him being an old whiny man with no humanity. I actually knew the song that was playing now, I was even humming to it at the same time that I was pretending not to hear it in a vain attempt to sleep.

I had changed into a comfortable pair of pajamas, brushed my teeth and turned on the heater and even took the things to a new dramatic level and texted Miss Saatre to take the Monday off. _I have influenza, Can’t leave the bed for a few days._

My lids were finally getting heavy when someone knocked on the door. ugh. Didn’t they take their keys? I pressed my face further to my pillow, ignoring it until the knocking didn’t stop.

_FUCK._

“Fuck,” I groaned, marching to the door with the intention of an argument but it absolutely died in my throat when I opened the door.

There he was. All tall and gloomy with a glint that was brighter than the moon in his eyes. What was he doing here? His collar was so high it was touching his ears. His hair was a mess and his shirt underneath his jacket was so wrinkled. How did he get here so fast? There was at least a 90-minute drive from the apartment he took me to my house.

We just looked at each other, at lost for words until—

“Are you alone?” _Is there someone with you_ it meant _._

I nodded. That seemed to be the answer enough for him. We continued to look at each other until he moved, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me deep. It was so different from how I was kissed mere minutes ago. It reached within me. I clawed at his jacket, holding on for dear life for I feared he’d live any second. He seemed scared of his too, his hands were holding my face to strong. It wasn’t a pretty kiss but fuck It was exactly what I needed.

He panted against my mouth once we parted, frowning so deeply as if he was the one fearing my sudden departure.

“Mr. Demaury—“

“Eliott.” He corrected me.

“E—Eliott,” I tasted that word on my tongue. It fit perfectly. “Eliott,” I whispered again. He nodded quickly before devouring my mouth again, walking us in and closing the door behind us.

*****

**Saturday 00:24**

I could still hear my heart beating in my throat and ears and temples and the tip of my fingers and everywhere else. Mr. Demaury—Eliott’s face was so serene from where he was staring back at me on my tiny bed. The dim light peeking from the window had magically made him younger by a few years. We still hadn’t said anything; it would be too risky _. What would we say? What now? Why did you treat me the way you did? What are you doing here?_

“How did you know I live here?” I asked instead.

“It was in your resume in the office,”

“Oh,” I nodded, slipping more under the blanket until only my face was peeking out. It was still stalking but in a less creepier way.

“Are you cold?” He sounded concerned.

“The heater’s Okay. I’m just—I’m sensitive to cold weather,” I answered. “That’s why I still wore cardigans and sweaters in the summer. I swear I have to move to Brazil or something,”

He smiled, his nose wrinkling and his lips actually parted with the honesty of it. I couldn’t help but let him see a glint of a beam on me, too. His hands crawled towards me under the blanket, his thumb caressing my elbow. My eyes followed the sensation even though I couldn’t see out hidden limbs. “What happens now?”

“Now?”

“You— you said this will be disadvantageous for the both of us. And you’re here right now. Will you say that to me again the next time we meet in the office?”

He inched closer, his nose centimeters from me. “I won’t,”

“If you do it again I’m not sure if I’m going to open the door.”

He nodded like a pet who was threatened to have his favorite toy thrown away. “I—I had a terrible pair of days and I shouldn’t have lashed out on you. I’m sorry.”

“The music is too loud upstairs. What did you say again?” I hope my voice wasn't as startled as I was while requesting that because boy—he said he’s sorry. The Eliott Demaury said he’s sorry. No-one in the company would believe me. I just had to hear it one more time.

“I said I’m— Why are you smiling so widely?” He asked, then his forehead tensed before relaxing again. “Are you enjoying my apology?”

“Maybe,” I chuckled. “It feels good that for once I’m not the one saying it,”

He bent down to kiss me and I responded with a heated press. We had just had sex on my creaky bed. (I was thankful for the party. Either way everyone in the building would have heard us.) My body was still sore and pretty sated, but satisfied? My body was telling me otherwise.

I was really getting into it again, pulling him down on top of me with reignited desire and opening my mouth under his. Maybe it was the heat of the moment but I curled my fingers around his wrist in a reckless manner. I had totally forgotten about the bondage until I felt it under my fingers and heard him moaning—in pain.

“Fuck—I’m sorry,” I quickly sat up, holding his wrist in my hands.

“It’s Okay. I deserve it,”

I frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“I—I was angry and I—Well… I punched the wall. I deserve the pain that comes with being a drama queen,”

I was sure the bewilderment was all over my face. I could even see it reflected in his pupil. “What the fuck? You punched a wall? I thought someone hit you,”

“The wall did,”

“ Was that supposed to be a joke?” I retorted. Because it wasn’t funny at all. I was actually concerned about his dumb butt. That had to be the most teenage drama boy move ever. He laughed and I gave him the most incensed glare I could manage. “It’s such a stupid dad joke!”

“But you’re smiling.” He victoriously announced.

Was it? My cheeks felt plumper under my eyes and I realized I _was_. However, I lied. “I am not,”


	11. And doing gross shit like that

**Sunday 10:23**

“Jesus why are you full-on grinning all the time. It’s creeping me out,” Emma skeptically assessed me, tossing a bag of noodles in the shopping trolley. The market was more crowded than I would have liked it but it was still convenient to come with her than to tolerate the same two meals for an entire week.

“Maybe I just like your weird company more than you know,”

“Huh!” She smirked. “Or maybe you’re just getting it on again with that mystery man of yours in the office,”

A couple of teenage girls a head of us giggled at that remark, causing my ears to go red. I glared at Emma but she already seemed to have her desired confirmation. “So you are. Can I see his picture?”

“I don’t have any,” I shrugged, searching the upper shelves for anything I might have needed. I picked up a bottle of spicy ketchup for Arthur.

“His social media?”

“Don’t have it,”

“His dick pic?”

The girls burst into laughter this time. One of them turned around to take a glimpse at us and I actually heard her one of her friends’ gasp of _Rebeca don’t!_ Emma obviously didn’t mind them, if anything she had a nostalgic smile on her face. She and the girls must have shopped together or laugh at people’s hook-up histories. Probably both. “Emma why would I—“ I glanced around and whispered quietly. “have his dick pic? And even if I did why would I show it to you?”

“I don’t know. Just thought you might be into that stuff. I had more pictures of Alex’ dick than his face,” She cheerfully explained, taking out her phone from her pocket.

“I don’t wanna see that!” I turned my head away with a disgusted look.

She laughed at that. “You wish. Just checking for any new convenient messages. Talking with you really gives me nothing,”

I imagined how close Mr. Demaury and I had to get to even ask him if I was allowed to take… yes to take dick pictures. Not that I was obsessed with it or something. The last time I had dick pictures in my phone was to help Mika choose one for the bar’s _luvy-dovey of month._ All of those photos were all blurred but even that had me embarrassed, especially when Yann had snaffled my phone for a call and the gallery was still running in the back ground. _Don’t ask dude_ was all I said in my defense.

“I have dirt on Arthur,” I blurted out, desperate to somehow impress her despite her tone being playful and fun. “I think I know why he’s been acting weird lately,”

That seemed to catch her attention perfectly. She quickly put the phone aside to regard me fully.

“Do you remember that manager Saetre, who asked me to sign the paper about confidentiality and all? I think there’s something going on between them,” I told her.

We were slowly approaching the end of the super market. I stole a box of ginger biscuits now that she wasn’t paying too much mind to me. She didn’t really like ginger.

She suddenly stopped. “Wait _… Her_? Saetre, as in the office manager Saetre?! No way! Arthur hates her! He’s always whining about her being an absolute tyrant!”

I frowned. If that hopeless romantic smile was anything to go by, he was far from hating her. The entire scene was still replaying in my mind, the way Arthur had drunkenly fixed his collar and shirt, how she had mischievously tucked a string of hair between her fingers and rolled it, how they were so invested into each other none of them noticed my stupid hiding tac tic with a mini menu less than ten meters away. There was no way he hated her.

“When was the last time he actually said it?”

“… um… June?” I raised my eyebrows in a suggestive way to prove my point. She clicked her tongue, finally digesting what I’d been implying. “Damn Lallement. Stepping up the game, huh?” And then to reward me she added. “Wanna grab some pancakes after this?”

*****

**Sunday 11:04**

This place looked oddly nostalgic. The bakery café was not far from the mall, maybe two or three blocks but we were both exhausted with the heavy grocery we were carrying. I sat in front of her and, taking in the surrounding with quick stealing glances. The tiny place was embellished with plastic pumpkins and mini colorful light bulbs. It was really cozy with the scent of fresh bread hanging in the air.

“What do you think of this place?” Emma asked me as we ordered two plates of pancakes. The girl behind the counter was polite to me but a bit too friendly with her and judging from the ease coming from Emma, she also knew him. So she was a regular.

“It’s lovely,” I replied, eyes locked on the row after row of cakes and pies a head of me.

“I’m going to work here soon,”

“What?”

She raised her brows with a pout, grabbing one of the cupcakes in a box that had ‘smile-for-price’ written on it. “Figured it was strange to give people drinks with a belly bulge. It’s temporary though. Wouldn’t miss the chaos in that place for the peace here. Some of the fights I witnessed there past 1 a.m. still lives in my mind rent-free.” Her eyes unfocused for a second and chuckled, probably hit by a wave of memory. “But until February, I’m here,”

I frowned at the confession. I had been to Emma’s bar for a time or two. I didn’t necessarily expect an idealistic workplace but what I saw really had me taking a second look. It was like one of those exaggerated western movies when someone new walks into a bar and gets thrown out of the door in the exact next shot. Why would she turn down the opportunity of such a quiet workplace for literal chaos?

“But—you’re not going to be working in that bar forever, right? I mean, you’re going to become a mom,”

With the look she threw me I almost expected an argument right away yet all I received was a sigh. “No you’re right. Actually I did sign up for some cooking classes. Starting tomorrow. Nick’s really brainwashed me into wanting a chef career,”

Now I could picture _that_ —her in a white shirt yelling at people for the lack of flavor in their plates or motivating them when they were making a progress. “It suits you,”

“I guess,” That blush meant she agreed. We were momentarily distracted by the girl bringing our pancakes. They really looked delicious and I started eating in no-time. The warmth of it was welcome to me. Weather was starting to get freezing with an unlimited speed. Just two weeks ago I found a sweater enough now I couldn’t leave the house without three layers of clothing.

_You’re cute—especially when you wrap yourself in blankets like it’s the world war duvet_

I bit my lips in the memory of yesterday morning. We were awakened in the middle of the night with the loud crackling laughter of my friends rushing inside. They were still in the party mood as the crashed down on the couch and continued their conversation, way too loudly for a 4 a.m-existential subjects. “Ignore them,” I had groaned as I felt him twitching next to me.

“I may be able to that but I can’t ignore the breeze,” He mumbled. I opened my eyes for a second, still enough to notice I had completely hogged the blanket. The only part of the poor man under the covers were his feet and they were freezing, too. My eyes traveled up him and maybe the sleeping me had a holy plan— It would be a scathing sin to cover that body. “I’m freezing over here and you are sleeping all comfortably,”

“I’m sorry. Or not. Don't know,” I scooted closer, sharing the cover with him. He accepted quickly.

“You’re cute—especially when you wrap yourself in blankets like it’s the world war duvet.”

“Earth to Lucas? Hello?” She called me, cutting the string of thoughts that would soon lead to something that would make me blush like a tomato in public. She huffed in amusement when I just gave him a warm smile. “Boy you are definitely getting some Vitamin D,”

I flushed again at that, thankful for the more rhythmic music playing in the background and the fact that a couple of kids were being loud on one of the tables near us. “Please don’t ever call it that again,”

“Whatever. So what’s his deal? Has he taken you out yet?” She inquired. “Like on a date or something?”

I almost choked on the Nutella on the pancakes. “Emma he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really? He seemed pretty nice to me when he was sneaking out of your room yesterday morning. _Have a nice day Emma_ , he said, ” She smirked at me. I was certain my eyes were going to pop out any second now. I was already aware of him kind of stalking me ever since that one time he called me after Emma posted a story about me. But this was a whole new level. He’d play with the strings of my sanity and then smile at my friend looking like a whole boyfriend-material? “Boy he knew my name.” Emma continued. “If he bothers to remember your friend’s name, the next thing you know he’s taking you to movie dates, weekend getaways and doing gross shit like that,” She pointed to the window. I followed its direction outside to the couple standing at the book shop on the other side of the street. They appeared so in love even from the far; with the guy’s arm around the girl from where he stood behind her. They were pointing at different books and sharing delighted smiles. It didn’t look gross at all.

“I think you’re being an optimist,”

She narrowed her eyes at me, focusing on any my face for a second or two before shrugging. I hated when she did that. Arthur did that, too. Even Yann used to do that. It always meant one thing: I had revealed too much, denied it but it was too late. I hated being exposed and my friends were excellent and taking the slightest hints.

*****

**Monday 9:31**

Ah yes. Remember the text message I sent to Saetre, saying I had influenza? She strictly prohibited my presence in the office for _at least_ three extra days. She was not having me infecting the entire the office. _Dave had salmonella last year. In two weeks the entire office smelled like it was exploded with a methane bomb. Thanks but I’m not having that again_.

So maybe I was taking advantage of the situation but I seriously did need a break. I also had to bribe Arthur into telling everyone I was actually sick. I had to do his laundry for the next two weeks but it was worth it. Emma also expected me to make lunch because she would be spending the morning in the cooking class.

The first two hours went without a problem until I had a text. The thrill of it was strong but since I was somewhat a masochist when it came to myself, I refrained myself from touching my phone; instead focusing on vacuuming. Then it was a second vibration—another one.

Look who’s missing who now Mr. Demaury? Was it fun not responding to my texts? Now get a taste of your own recipe.

No more than two minutes later there were yet two other vibrations. I took mercy on him, turning off the vacuum to see what he’s said.

* _Arrogant Loser: Noora told me you’re sick. Is that true?_

_*Brat—new number: You didn’t seem sick Saturday morning. What happened?_

_*Brat—new number: Your friend confirmed it. Are you still asleep, do you need help?_

_*Brat—new number: I’m worried. I'm coming over._

When was that sent? Shit—he’d be here any minute. Here was the thing about Woodside: With a taxi, I was less than twenty minutes away from the office. With the way I was obsessed with money— _stingy, Lucas, stingy_ —I often walked half the way and used the bus for the rest of the way and made it an-hour journey. But it wasn’t all obsession with money. Or maybe it was. I don’t know. I never had a perfect relationship with it. It got even more complicated after my parents’ divorce and my total independence on the little money they sent me. And now, how I was sending half of what I made straight back for my mother’s bills and medications. I wasn’t vain; in fact, I was proud of myself to get over the need to revenge my mother for something she was suffering from in the first place. If I was once or twice embarrassed about her illness, she was experiencing it daily. If I was deprived of money, she was deprived of her husband and son. So helping her was something I was dedicated to.

I dragged the vacuum back to Arthur’s bedroom and left it there. I’d do his laundry for one more week. Then I ran straight back to my room, searching for anything other than the third pair of the exact identical Winnie pooh shorts I always found myself returning to. I just pulled up a pair of sweatpants before a sending a quick text _What? Where are you now?_

My reply came faster than I expected it. _Open the door_

And then the door-bell rang. Was the house tidy? What the fuck was that thought. It wasn’t only my house I couldn’t be blamed if it were. But it was my boss. But he’d been here before. But that time he spent the entire time in my room. Great, that would be the plan. I just drag him in there and lock him up.

The bell rang a second time. I checked myself in the corridor’s mirror one more time. I didn’t look great but I was supposed to have the flu. I messed up my hair a little, rubbed at my eyes and nose until they were puffy enough and grabbed a tissue to wipe at my face in a faux illness gesture. Great. When a knock came this time, I eventually opened the door. “Hi,”

“Wow,” Was what he said when his eyes had their full share of me.

“Well, are you confident that I wasn’t lying?” I gave out a tiny cough at the end of that.

“I am confident I was right. But at least I expected a better performance,”

“What performance? I’m sick.” I sniffed in the Kleenex and to my absolute luck my nose was as dry as a desert.

“With that amateur puffy nose that is obviously red just because you rubbed at it ten seconds ago? Or the complete dry tissue that’s supposed to be filled with snot?” He raised his eyebrows. “You are healthier than me,”

I huffed dispiritedly, stepping aside with a defeated look to allow him inside.

*****

**Monday 9:57**

“So this is the honest collection you were so proud of?” He teased the shelf of records and albums, walking around the derisory living room. Well, derisory in his standards because his ‘small’ apartment uptown was easily thrice the size of ours.

I shrugged, hugging myself. “They are just bunch of CDs. Some are just covers. Most of them belong to Arthur anyways,”

“Uh-hum,” He nodded, tilting his head to the side to read off the labels. His turtle neck was new. I had never seen him wearing anything but suits to the office. It was refreshing. He also had a stubble on, again, new. Did anything happen to him yesterday? “I take a guess here. You’re the rock fan here,”

“Huh?” He pulled out a DVD cover with three girls dancing titled ‘ _Heathers the musical_ ’. I was puzzled for a second and then I realized most of the did shelf belong to Arthur. He didn’t use to be a musical fan in the lycee but he had been to bunch of shows ever since he moved in here and he occasionally enjoyed the plays. I was glad Mr. Demaury at least knew me enough to suspect they weren’t mine. “Yeah. I like Heathers though. I mean liked the movie. I didn’t get to see the play.”

“Would you like to?” He sounded so eager.

 _The next thing you know he’s taking you to movie dates, weekend getaways and doing gross shit like that_. What the fuck. Was he implying what I think he was implying? Did he want to take me there? What was I supposed to say? I didn’t want to be clingy with a swift yes but I also didn’t want to miss the opportunity. “Me?” I asked. Fantastic. I didn’t come off as a clingy, I came off as an idiot.

“Unless there is somebody else in the room.” He pointed out, eyes glancing around the room to double-take everything.

“Arthur would love that.” I evaded the question because ever since his abrupt visit on Friday night, his quiet egress the next morning and the lack of conversation since then I was very uncertain where we stood. “But don’t tell him I said that,”

The corner of his eyes wrinkled in an abstained smile. I was clenching and unclenching my hands. What did he want here? Didn’t he have a job? Wouldn’t they ask for him in the office anyways? He noticed the unease in my body, biting the inside of his cheek before sighing. “You’re wondering what am I doing here.”

Fuck. I was super tense. I needed to chill a little. “I’m just hoping you won’t find my Jonas Brothers CDs. I even drew some hearts on Joe and it's super embarrassing, ”

He chuckled, placing Arthur’s DVD back. “I wouldn’t dare. But you still owe me an explanation,"

“And I’m sorry I took a day off. Look I was tired, OK? Brandon is always having sex phones with his girlfriend and his desk is like six meters away from me. I know every single detail about his sex life. Details I wouldn’t even want to know about mine. And you always arrive at the most random hours. The coffee guy looks at me like I’m your slave or something. Then there is Amy, I swear to god that woman doesn’t understand what ‘gay’ means. She gives the sultriest looks ever, even stared at me once while playing with her bra strap. I swear to god.”

“I meant for the Jonas bothers CD," He told me.

"Oh,"I smiled.

"Should I fire her though?”

“What? Amy? No, Jesus!” I defended her. Fine, I hated her but I didn’t want to be a home wrecker.

“Then I have her changing departments,”

“You’d do that? I mean you could do that?”

“If you want. Does she make you uncomfortable?”

I nodded, eyes fixed on the ground. “But—I mean isn’t it wrong? She hasn’t done anything. And It’s like taking advantage of you,”

He politely reached forward to hold my hand from where I was fidgeting with the bottom of my sweater. “Lucas you are not taking advantage of me. Someone is making you uncomfortable in my office and I can’t have that. I can’t have that happening to any of my employees, OK? I’m glad you told me.” He smiled at me when I finally looked at him in the eyes he added teasingly “Wow. Shy doesn’t suit you,”

I smiled back at him. “Nice doesn’t suit you,” And just when I was about to tease him more, there was a loud rumbling coming from his stomach. He was flushed red when he realized I heard it too, as if showing a sign of being a biologically functioning human was a weakness. Just how much pressure has been on him, it was not like he’d thrown up on me. That look on his face indicated someone who just remembered they had dance-off at a police station on a drunken evening with their in-laws to be.

“Did you have a breakfast?”

“Yes,” That wasn’t a lie but there was something he was trying to hide there.

“What did you have?”

He bit the inside of his cheek. For a moment I thought I’d receive no answer and I was ready to drop the subject when he simply replied. “An apple.”

*****

**Monday 10:21**

So we added small coffee date—erase that _. Coffee hangouts_ together to the list of whatever we were doing. I took him to the same bakery café Emma and I had only gone to yesterday. It was such a naïve move but from yesterday I wasn’t able to get those colorful donuts out of my head. Call me shallow but I liked me some carbs.

Eliott Demaury was sitting in peace, talking to the waitress. His eyes found mine from across the place from where I was standing in front of the pastry display, attempting to choose something from all the cakes set before me. He told her something and then politely shook his head after she said threw her head back in what seemed to be an earnest laughter. She was the same girl from yesterday and waved at me before walking to the counter. “Let me know once you made up your mind,”

I didn’t bother to answer her. So It was fine for Eliott Demaury to be kind to everyone except for me. _Have a nice day, Emma?_ Flirt with the waitress? Ask about Arthur’s interests in musical theater? What was next? Making a chicken Rossini on Nick’s YouTube channel? It was draining to witness all that attention wasted on other people when he could spare It on me and get his dick sucked in return. Maybe it was my mistake; He was treating me like I was just another soldier in his chess game, no explanation no promises and still got his dick sucked.

“What’s taking you so long?” It was his voice suddenly behind me, too close.

“It’s hard to choose,”

Then the most unexpected thing happened. He was right there behind me, not wrapping his arm around me or anything but his presence was flushed against mine, from the back of my neck until the back of my knees. I was very still—Emma’s words from yesterday morning were echoing loudly in my brain.

_The next thing you know he’s taking you on movie dates, weekend getaways and doing gross shit like that_

We were doing the gross shit like that just a second later as his chin ever so slowly found its way on my shoulder his hands unsure and willowy by my sides. He hummed as an answer, clearly lacking determination and courage about whether or not taking It farther or stepping back. My rigid stature wasn’t really helping him either. But this was the shifting moment. I could give an easy laugh and untie myself from him like nothing had happened or I could lean into him more, motivate him into wrapping me in his arms fully.

What did I want?

Was I content with whatever we had or did I want more?

I leant into his embrace more, doing it sheepishly. _Please don’t panic, please don’t panic._ And when his arms came about my waist I realized this wasn’t gross at all.

“I want four,” I said quickly, taking a glimpse of him from the corner of my eyes as his gaze followed the donuts I was pointing to. “the purple, the blue, the yellow and the red one,”

“All of them?”

“And maybe that pink one, too. I don’t know.”

“Let’s one from all the eight colors. We have time.” He pulled me to him. I couldn’t help but grin, partly because I was getting sweats, partly because I felt the hugest butterflies in my belly.

*****

**Monday 13:21**

“Oh fuck—“ My hands flew to his shoulder, clawing at it because at this point I was going to die if I wasn’t going to hold onto something. I was still in my sweater and he was in a state of half-clothed. With the way the rain had suddenly decided to surprise us, we had no choice but to run until we were back at home. He hadn’t brought his car with him and it was the most rational thing to do in that moment, there would be a flood if the rain kept falling like that. And once we were inside, all smiling and soaked, he didn’t even let me change, just grabbing me by the neck to kiss me. And I kissed him back like I had been wishing to do. And I was since the last time we were together.

Because I was. God I was so helpless when it came to him. We didn’t even ask to see if Emma was home yet. I wasn’t even able to recall if I’d closed the door behind us or not. All I remember is somehow all the heated kissed and groping ended in him being where I wanted him the most.

“You like that, baby?” He asked me, face so focused and yet eyes so dreamy. I nodded enthusiastically. My thighs were burning but I would be caught dead before stopping. The rhythm was too frantic to maintain for long but he didn’t show any sign of exhaustion, holding my thighs close to his waist and thrusting upwards, meeting me half-way through. I bent down to kiss him, riding him with any energy left in my thighs which wasn’t much.

The kiss wasn’t even a kiss, it was just me panting into his mouth and him trying his best to keep out mouths attached at some point. I felt so close to him, so close and somehow not enough. What was missing I didn’t know. It obviously had nothing to do with our bodies—they knew each other perfectly. It was him. His soul. I was aware he was letting me in but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. And I wanted to. God, I wanted to.

I pushed his hair aside from his forehead and eyes, staring deep into them. I was no longer moving, letting him do all the work. And he was giving it to me just the way my body had been craving it. I decided to give him the same thing. I guided him to slow down his moves until I could roll my hips with circulated moves. The way his eyes were transfixed on me, that was what I needed. To be looked upon like that, to be wanted like that.

I changed my angle ever so slightly, but it caused both of us to gasp at it. I was feeling him everywhere inside and out and the fact I was still left insatiable despite that was infuriating.

“What is it baby?” He asked me, connecting our foreheads together. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered against his mouth. But then I knew the answer. “You,”

“Me?” He almost chuckled, chasing my mouth. “I’m right here,”

"I know it's just...stop looking me like that. I'm making sense. I think I am,"

"No you are. I'm right here," He repeated, kissing me deeply. He maneuvered us from the edge of the bed until we were at the center of it and he could let his feet rest on the mattress. I locked my ankles behind his waist as he did so and let out a shaky breath once he began to undulate me on his lap. “Feel me?”

“Yeah,” I smiled against his mouth, making sure to have the neighbors complain about us to the landlord.

*****

**Tuesday 14:32**

_*Brat—new number: How long are you supposed to be sick_

_*You: Did you miss me?_

_*Brat—new number: It is quiet without your inconveniences._

I smiled at my phone like a teenager in love, leaning further back against the couch to make myself comfortable. That sentence meant he missed me whether or not he admitted the four-letter word. I typed the reply quickly.

* _You: then come over. I can be a trouble maker here._

I waited. A minute turned into two and then three and I still had no reply. Maybe that was too straight-forward and expectant? But I think we were past that. I decided to distract myself from the harsh fact of being ignored. I made myself some tea, even stepped by the window to see if I could find his car. Regarding his previous actions, it wouldn’t be so unforeseen to see him suddenly knocking at my door.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I almost dropped the tea with the speed that I reached for it.

_*Brat—new number: I’m having a meeting. Are you free after six?_

What was I supposed to say? I mean of course I was free. But was I supposed to lie? It was an elusive decision.

_*You: Why?_

_*Brat—new number: are you or are you not_

_*You: I guess. Why?_

_*Brat—new number: Then I come pick you up. We’re going somewhere._

_*You: Where?_

_*Brat—new number: Patience._

I threw my phone on the pile of the cushions on the couch. patience. I should've told him I'm busy anyway.

_Wait._

Was I having a low-key date?


	12. Use your imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> Enjoy all the fluffy romance days before the angst comes for it is on its way :)))))

**Tuesday 18:23**

It was my first time being in a car with a professional driver. Don't get me wrong, I had used Taxis and Ubers before and technically driving was their profession but to actually have someone waiting for me at my doorstep to open the door for me was a new experience. The driver seemed kind and he was patient enough to wait for me a couple of extra minutes until I got fully dressed-up. I didn’t know where we were heading so I had to be ready for anything: just a dinner at his place, a restaurant dinner—though that was unlikely—or maybe just walking the length of the city. I didn’t mind any of those. I was past the point of denying my affections for Mr. Demaury. I was actually flattered by his tiniest gestures of emotions.

“Where are we going?” I asked him. He was dressed much more formally than I had so yes, the dinner date theory didn’t sound so distant anymore.

“Somewhere you’d like,”

I frowned at him. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Well. The cloud storage you installed for us, it has a shared Microsoft account and I was able to have access to some of your search history. No no no—I didn’t do it on purpose. Please don’t look at me like that.”

 _What._ I was panicking. I was aware that software had this outcome but I didn’t actually anticipate Demaury to use it. He was so hesitant to trust it in the first place so I wasn’t expecting him to get access to those data. I was decent enough not to search anything unprofessional while using the office computers but I did have some interesting searches; varying from pancake recipes, Vine compilation and funny dogs videos, some guilty confessions on Facebook and Reddit, totally unrequired pet and baby accessories on amazon and eventually some searches I made when I was bored like 'is it weird that i talk to myself sometimes' 'do people in comas poop' 'Did Voldemort have a child' or ' was Virginia Woolf a real person?'

“I… am I getting fired?”

“No—No. Though I must warn you the office internet isn’t ought to be used for those purposes,” He said before smiling. “But I did notice you sometimes watched live concerts,”

Oh fuck. Concert. He was taking me to a Rolling Stones concert. This was not how I had planned meeting Mick Jagger. I wasn’t going to meet him for sure but I was going to take ten million selfies and the lee jacket I was wearing wasn’t my dream outfit.

Just when I was about to beg him to tell me how he’d gotten his hands on the tickets the car took off in front of a stadium with the people cheering outside. Oh my god this was happening.

“Here we are sir. Yankees stadium,”

_What stadium  
_

I looked outside the window and none of these people appeared to be attending to a concert. They had signs with names, numbers and _Go Go Go_ written on them. This wasn’t a concert. I tilted my head to give Demaury a questioning glance and he was fast to catch up.

“Idriss I thought I was specific when I told you to get the tickets for Yanni’s keys to imagination concert. What is this?"

The driver was silent for a few seconds before his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened in a sudden expression of realization. “Yanni? Who’s that? I thought you—I thought you said _Yankees! use your imagination_ ,” He babbled. “And they had a game just today which is pretty rare for a weekday. so I thought you were onto something. How was I supposed to know—” He defended himself.

“Idriss I swear to god. How difficult it is to just listen to my words instead of _using your imagination_!”

“Sir I was in a tunnel. The signal was weak!"

Meanwhile I solely sat there speechless. I had searches about Pianos but not much, only a couple of times albeit he had noticed. Him, the cold man whom everyone feared was punctilious enough to discern that name. Not many people even knew I played the piano. I wasn’t embarrassed by it by any means. I had kept it to myself for so long I had a distant feeling it was how it was supposed to be—hidden. But what mattered was not the poor driver mistaking the name, it was his intention.

“It’s OK,” I interrupted them. “I don’t mind,”

He stole his gaze from Idriss to see me. “You don’t?”

“No. I haven’t been to a match since forever. I miss the excitement.”

The smile was returned to his face and I could hear Idriss exhaling with relief. “Are you sure?”

I held his sleeve again, still doubtful about holding his hand. “Yeah. It’s just baseball. How complicated can it be?"

*****

**Tuesday 19:02**

Mr. Demaury didn’t know, as Emma recently used a lot, "jackshit" about baseball. I had at least watched some movies about it so I did have some ideas about what’s going on but the poor man next to me was just plain confused. He wasn’t lucky either. Apparently Idriss was experienced when it came to black market and he had gotten his hands on one of the best sections. We were squished between some of the loudest and most brutal fans I had ever seen. One of them was even constantly questioning him about his _favorites_ : ‘Who’s your fav’ ‘Did you watch the last week’s match?’ ‘What’s your favorite home run moment’ ‘how did you become a fan’ and it was downright hilarious.

I never had this much fun just watching someone being awkward and lost. He asked me every other minute what was everyone doing and how sorry he was I was forced to stand this. It wasn’t true though; the game was exciting enough to prevent me from boredom despite my minimum knowledge. I even took a selfie and posted it on my story. Not many of my flowers replied but Nick called me ‘absolutely lucky’. So he was a fan.

“Huh. _Lucky_ ,” Demaury smirked next to me.

“Maybe he’s just genuinely a committed fan. And by the way it’s rude to read other people’s messages,”

“You are holding it right in my face. It’s kind of hard to miss,” He wrapped his arms around himself, ignoring as the teenage boy next to him once again questioned him about the game.

“Are you jealous that Nick actually knows two players?”

“Jealous?” He let an evil smirk. “Of him? No wonder he knows about this stuff. I have an actual job so I don’t have the time to watch baseball,”

I grinned, inching closer to him and raising my eyebrows. “You don’t sound very convincing for someone who actually stalks me to the point of discovering Nick’s job and Emma’s name,”

“You wish,”

“Are you denying that you stalked me?” I challenged him, taking a sip of my giant soda can. He looked at the bottle with a disgusted look—yes, he was quite a healthy eater.

“Absolutely,”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I started seeing someone? You wouldn’t lock me up in your room again to give me a hand job or suddenly show up at my door?”

Someone behind us groaned. ‘Shut the fuck up we’re watching a game’. I ignored him, running my hands on his thighs. I could see him swallowing when my hands ascended the length of his body. “No,” He proudly lied, evading my gaze.

So he wanted to play. “Okay,” I shrugged, sitting back against my chair as far from him as I could. Proud bastard, he didn’t even spare me a glance.

I looked to my left, to seat on the other side—there was a pretty decent-looking guy. He had a Yankee’s shirt and he was howling at the players. I let my eyes wander in the field, to the player now in the center of spotlight. The guy’s face screamed he wasn’t satisfied with that certain player’s performance at the moment. On the screen there ws the player's name. Huh! I knew how to do this. Let’s see if he was jealous. “What is with Cole today Jesus,” I declared, a little loud to make sure he hears it.

I saw the way his eyebrows suddenly raise once he heard my voice. His gaze was still on the game but he nodded in approval. “Yes! Did you see that? What the fuck man!”

“I know.” I agreed with him. “It was an easy one,”

“It was right fucking there. How did he lose it?” He sighed, finally turning his head to look at me and _oh._ I was familiar with that look. I did have his attention now, didn’t I? What where even the odds? “uh… hi,” He smiled.

“Hi,” I smiled back, making sure to look as adorable as I possibly could in the low light and screaming people around me as I sat back down. He followed after a minute when there was an intermission.

He saw my soda and beamed. “So here’s an advice. Next time get a sprite instead of cola. That machine’s a bit wrecked, lets you have more for the same price,”

“Yeah? Thanks. It’s my first time. I didn’t know,”

“Guessed so,” He shrugged. “You have the politeness of the newbies. Don’t worry though. The game’s usually gets better at the end,”

“Cool,” I said. “You come here often?”

“Pretty much. This and the Mets,” I nodded in acknowledgement. From the corner of my eyes I could see Demaury biting his lower lip in anxiety. He was pretending to be busy on his phone and doing a shitty job at it. “You have a lovely accent. French, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“So you must be more of a soccer fan,”

I laughed. “Kind of. But this is cool, too. I think I’m figuring it out,”

My cute smile wasn’t as ineffectual as I—or Demaury for that matter—had anticipated because the guy seemed interested already. And behind me, I was already feeling how Demaury was getting uncomfortable despite the feign peaceful expression he was sporting. But it wasn’t enough anymore, I didn’t want to sense the realizations anymore, I didn’t want a physical affirmation, I wanted his verbal confession this time. I knew he cared about me, I needed him to _admit_ it.

“I—I could show you the old sprite machine in the next inning. If you’d like,”

Why wasn’t Demaury doing anything? He was sitting behind me like a stick glued to his seat. “I would,”

*****

**Tuesday 19:45**

So _Kilian_ was helping me find our seats, explaining me the 101 of the game and all the necessary basics. Demaury hadn’t even left his all the while we had been away. I sat next to him with a grumpily sigh _do something_ I almost begged. It wasn’t my fault that we had purchased the wrong tickets or that Nick had simply just called me Lucky or that the guy next to me turned out to be more into me than I had originally planned.

Kilian was asking for my Instagram ID, ‘ _I’d like to know you better_ ’ when suddenly I felt someone behind us squeak and _s_ houted _look up_ at us. I did and we were right up there on the big screen with all hearts and butterflies surrounding our faces. Right up on the screen I could read “Kiss cam”. So karma had some serious issues with me.

The first thing I did was to look at Mr. Demaury. He was looking at me, too. Then I glanced at Kilian. He shrugged and asked me if I was OK with it. I was but I wasn’t. Does that make sense? I decided to give him a cheek kiss instead. It wouldn’t be inappropriate. I did it so quickly but the second it was over Demaury pulled me back into my seat with a hissing “Fine,”.

“Fine?”

“Fine—I do get jealous,”

“That’s all?” I urged him on, biting my lips in the small victory, sitting closer to him. I heard Kilian mutter something but I was more invested in my left.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Use your imagination _,_ ” I encouraged him, now completely in his space. The game had started, and something had probably happened in the field because everyone around us were suddenly standing up and hissing.

“Fine. I like you to be with me. Only me,” I grinned, gently tugging him towards mine until we were kissing. It was soft compared to all our kisses and our first in public. I was confident it wasn’t an easy kiss for him for I was just smiling instead of moving my lips.

And from there the rest of the game was the best match I had ever been to. I didn’t ask him to wrap his arms around mine or eat some of my chips yet he did. I don’t even know who won in the end, but I missed the game when it was over.

*****

**Wednesday 9:21**

I was back in the office and nothing in here had changed. Except well, maybe a few things. When I handed Eliott— I was starting to call his name even in my own mind—his coffee he gave me a chaste kiss on the temple with a quick _merci_ ’. It was so similar to the one I had given him weeks ago, yet so different. I accepted it so naturally; only discovered that yet again it was another first in the expanding list of our activities.

*****

**Thursday 18:03**

I detached myself from his lips, using a supernatural power not to give in the temptation when he chased my mouth. “I have to go,” I mumbled, reaching behind myself blindly for the door handle. We were still in the parking, thirty minutes after the lights in the tower were down. I was scared they would close the parking doors though that was very unlikely. It was stupid of me to actually think he was going to drive me home when he suggested it; not that I was complaining.

“Do you want to?” He mouthed right beneath my ear, hands still buried under the jacket around my waist to pull me closer. I allowed him, not able to restrain my gasp as his hands wandered further down to my belt. “Look at you. I don’t think you do,”

“My friends are going to wonder why I’m late,” I was not even sure if he could distinguish those words from each other from the way I was panting them. Besides the point, that was such a stupid excuse. I was no longer a child and usually they wouldn’t get too worried unless it was past midnight.

“They can wait until I’m done,” He pecked at my mouth quickly, biting his lips as he pulled down my zipper and went down on me. Yeah they could totally wait.

*****

**Saturday 11:32**

“Yes dude!” Arthur threw his head back in an honest cackle, nearly falling off the armchair. “Lulu _is_ getting laid! He won't tell me who though! How did you notice that?”

Yann’s face was completely neutral. “Wasn’t too hard to guess. My boy is glowing,”

I shoved the phone away from where Arthur was holding it in my face. “Fuck off.” I groaned, hiding my face behind a cushion. When the boys got together on FaceTime they often needed a victim. One of us got unfortunate each time and the rest roasted the hell out of him. It was usually Basile but today evidently it was me.

“So not very recently,” Arthur pinpointed.

“Agreed. He’s always all soft and kind after it,” Basile confirmed their messed-up comments.

“Fuck you. I am kind and appreciative when you don’t sexualize me,”

“But I’m straight,” Basile announced. All of us rolled our eyes at him.

“We know Bas,” Arthur said. “No-one meant you. You’d made your interest in ladies very clear,”

“It’s not that I have a problem with it. But even If I were a gay Lucas wouldn’t be my type,” He said, his tune completely serious. “Though his boyfriend in sophomore year of college would be. That boy was so hot!“

“Basile!” It was Daphne’s voice, his fiance. He cursed under his breathe, yelling ‘ _not nearly as hot as you babe’_ as he glared at the phone. "Your boyfriends will end my marriage even before it's official I swear!"

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.” I corrected him. “We were just fucking.”

“You always say that about them once it’s over,” Yann added, his smug face beaming at the screen as he ate a chocolate bar.

 _Because that’s all it always is_ my mind supplied but I didn’t voice it out this time. _No_. It wasn’t like that anymore now, was it?

“well—I used to say that.”

“OOOHHH!” The boys oohed and aahed in a theatrically vain display of admiration. I hate to admit it but it made me beam back. That even had them losing their mind more; they kept asking me who this mystery guy was who was changing my disdained opinion on relationships.

I was lucky because soon Basile was declaring he was also taking charge of his grandfather’s old farm some time in march. He invited us all for the spring breaks, warning us he’d be extremely dejected if we decided to ditch him. “I have a surprise for you,”

“Cool,” Arthur commented. Yann and I only nodded.

“Aren’t you excited to find out what it is?”

“You’ll reveal it yourself Bas,” Arthur joked. “We don’t even have to try,”

*****

**Sunday 06:33**

In the dim light of the early morning peeking through the closed curtains I stared at my phone screen. I hadn’t been able to sleep properly last night—my mind kept wandering back to millions of things I knew and didn’t. In the end I was haunted by insomnia and just laid there in my bed awaiting the arrival of the morning. I picked up my phone from the bed-side table, surprised to see two messages.

_*Arrogant loser: I have a problem with my Tuesday schedules. Cancel the meetings today.  
_

_*Brat—new number: I’m thinking about you._

They really seemed like two different people. Maybe Yann was right; Maybe I always did find myself drawn to men with the reddest flags. Ones who didn't even have a sleep schedule like normal people. His last message was sent around _4 a.m_. Was he still wake? I decided to test it.

_*You: Are you awake?_

I didn’t really expect any reply. I gently put the phone on my chest and rested my eyes; hoping for sleep to claim me when the phone vibrated.

* _Brat—new number: What are you doing today_

Wow.

* _You: Slaving for my horrible boss who makes me work even on weekends_ _:(_

_*Brat—new number: What if I could convince him to let you take a break_

_*You: I’m afraid he wouldn’t listen._

_*Brat—new number: But if I could?_

_*You: Then I’d owe you a great deal._

What a nerd, who would have thought? I was full on grinning when another message came in, this time with his other SIM.

 _*Arrogant loser: One of my great friends talked to me. Don’t get used to this but—forget about the Tuesday meetings until tomorrow_.

* _Brat—new number: Did it work?_

_*You: Thanks. Guess I owe you now._

_*Brat—new number: Kennedy bridge. 30 minutes._

*****

**Sunday 7:05**

So _,_

Weekend getaways and movie dates? Getting there.

Spending the weekend together watching a movie aka doing gross shit? Already there.

As promised, he picked up a very sleepy me and didn’t even complain about how grumpy I was. “Why couldn’t you just come by my door?” I groaned at him. “You didn’t have trouble doing that before,”

“You’re getting spoiled,” Was his answer before playing an unrequired amount of dubstep music until we arrived at his apartment. Even if I was tiny bit sleepy, with the way his music was beating right into my ears I was fully awake when we arrived. 

So now were in his ‘secret’ apartment, eating the rest of the crumpled morning toasts and eggs he had bought for us earlier. Don’t ask me why but I had a feeling he wasn’t a great chef. I didn't mind the take-out; the toast tasted excellent. So I licked the remaining sauce from my fingers as I helped him place the plates and cups in the sink to wash them. He held himself back for a minutes, flinching at me so effortlessly and seamlessly helping around his house. Perhaps he was startled by the domesticity of our situation. I decided to continue with my ministrations, if it was really uncomfortable, he would voice out. He didn’t. Instead he gave me one of those mysterious half smiles half smirks.

“So I… Well… There is another baseball game. This afternoon. I was wondering if you would—“

“Are you a fan now? A fan with an actual job?” I teased him, rubbing my hands in the back of my jeans to get the moister off of them. “Or is it because you want to watch it with me?“

“Yes, I would like to watch it with _you_.”

How could I say no to that? How could I say anything to that? That was so blatant, so openly and freely given. _I would like to watch it with you_. Not yes I like it. Not whatever. Not never mind. Not are you going or not. But, _with you._

“When is it?”

“Around 4 p.m.”

“Do you tell people about your plans on such a short notice?” His face screamed exasperated, but not at me, because of me and at himself. He dried the last plate with a towel before placing it aside. I could see him muttering something like ‘what did I get myself onto’. I reached up with my hands, taking the side of his face into my palm. “OK. But the next time let me know sooner,”

“I could do that,”

“So what are we doing until 4?”

*****

**Sunday 11:11**

Honestly when I suggested that remark in the kitchen, our current activity was the last thing I had on my mind. Not that we didn’t do that—obviously we did. But being cuddled after while watching a series in his bed didn’t particularly cross my mind. He had randomly asked me if there was anything I was interested in watching and well, I remembered Arthur raving about his new favorite show _Dark_ so I recommended that.

I didn’t peg him as a fiction-lover but I enjoyed this side of him. I was aware this was difficult for him to let me in, so I didn’t tease him much when his questions seemed out of place. I was still hoping to know his mind, his fears, if once he trusted me, get to know the reason behind all the thick walls he’s built around himself. But the pace he had set was fine by me—I never thought one day I’ll be eating sweats with him while debating movie plots; which by the way he was delighting in doing so.

“But I still don’t think it’d be practical. You can’t change the past. It will mess with the fabric of time,” I said when we were taking a break between the episodes, casually plastered to his side with an empty bowl of ice cream on my lap.

“But what if you wanted to change something so badly in the past? What then?” There was more than curiosity behind that question; it was regret _._

“What I think is that it depends. If the thing you want to alter will remotely cause an outcome that will for whatever reason desist from going back in time in the first place, it’ll cause a paradox. You know, like the whole grandfather paradox,”

“The grandfather paradox?”

“Yes. Think there used to be this notorious murderer in your hometown with some seriously heinous records. And somehow you find a time machine,”

“ _somehow_ find a time machine?”

I pouted at him. “Don’t interrupt. You just do. And then the first thing you decide to do is go back in time and kill this person. So you do. But turns out this man was your great grandfather. If he’s dead, your own existence cease to exit. But the very reason he’s dead is because of your existence. See? It technically doesn’t work.”

I could see him actually considering the idea, inching closer to me with a frown on his face. “So what will happen if you actually so something like that?”

“How am I supposed to know? I lack basic knowledge in both fields; never killed anyone, never traveled in time,”

“But if you could have both of these realities in an alternative setting? Everything is the same except in one you fail and in the other you succeed?”

“Like a parallel universe?” I straightened up a little to look into his bowl. There was still plenty of ice cream left. I dipped my spoon in that one to steal some for myself.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe. More like a baby universe. Because this is a small paradox.”

“But I still don’t think we are capable of changing the past if we don’t want to get stuck in a never ending cycle of limiting paradoxes,” I ate more if his ice cream. It was melting and he didn’t seem like he wanted to have it anyways. I felt his eyes on me the entire time. “What? This discussion caused my brain to crave more glucose aka sugar,”

“Nothing. I just… you surprise me. These ideas, everything. It makes me forget how long has it been since I talked to someone.” He nonchalantly wiped a droplet of melted cream from the side of my mouth. “I missed it.”

“You talk to a lot of people,”

“You can talk to a lot of people. How many people can you speak with?” He questioned. wrapping his arms around me again to play another episode of the show. “Come on, Let’s watch another episode,”

But I didn’t care much for the twisted family tree of the show for now. I kept thinking about his question. It was very simple, but it occupied my mind minutes after. How many people can you speak with? How many of those around you you find trustworthy of your inner thoughts? Your fears—even if they sound childish?

I pressed myself more firmly to him, like a baby cat. I could see his smile in the reflection of his laptop screen on the bed.

I smiled back and I was sure he saw it too.

*****

**Sunday 7:43**

I won’t lie but the game was growing on me. Today I actually paid some attention to it, searched for anything I found bizarre or new and informed Eliott on everything. He was evidently more engrossed in me than the game. Half-way through the third inning he even bought me a hot dog just because I glanced at it more than twice. In the end I forced him to eat half of it. He refused first but then gave in. I took a picture of him quietly—I still didn’t know if he was comfortable with that. But I desired to have his photograph, just for myself in case I… I missed him.

After that, as the game was finished and we were walking to his car, he asked me if I could sleep over at his house.

“I can’t walk into the office tomorrow morning with a hoodie,” I shrugged, then. “But _you_ could come over.”

The parking was not vacant but it was far from crowded. And the lights were just flicked on, orange and warm in the contrast with the November breeze. I wish I had worn a pair of gloves. I tucked my hands into pockets.

“Can’t walk into the office with these” He pointed to his own jacket. I didn’t think it was that inappropriate for the workplace. I had seen dozens of guys in simple shirts and jackets—including myself—in the company. Yet judging from his perfect tailored suits I couldn’t imagine him in anything less. “But,” He said. “I have another jacket in the trunk. I took it yesterday from the laundry. That one’s better,”

I bit my lips to restrain my treacherous lips from forming a smile. “I like the jackets better than the suits,”

“You do?”

I was about to answer when I flinched for a second as I felt another hand join mine in my pocket. He was about to pull mine out and didn’t miss the sudden tensing in my body. I relaxed instantly when I saw the traces of hesitation in his face. _Don’t let go of it_ My mind screamed at him. And for whatever miracle it was, he decided to hold it again. I laced my fingers through his once he had taken my hand fully. “Yes,” I answered.

*****

**Monday 6:32**

“Ignore it,” I rumbled, stretching my arms to pull Eliott back in the bed. He was like a radiator in person; the perfect person to sleep next to. Why was it 6 a.m. already? Time wasn’t supposed to work like that.

“I’m afraid your boss isn’t _that_ nice,” He chuckled, turning his phone’s alarm off to lie back down again. I didn’t waste a second to scoot closer to him. I didn’t want to open my eyes yet, still reluctant to believe morning was here. Yesterday this time I couldn’t sleep and today I wasn’t able to get up.

“maybe...” I kissed his sleep-sweat neck, reveling in the scent of his skin without any chemical hints. “He just doesn’t want people to know,”

“Is that so?” there it was again, the affectionate thumb tracing of my face. I had grown to like it more than I cared to admit.

“But don’t tell him I said that,” I whispered, pulling him down for a sleepy kiss. Not so sleepy though because It didn’t take long until we were seating on the rumpled sheets, lips passionately locked.I realized in the back of my mind that we spent the last 24 hours together and it was one of the best days I had. I didn’t want it to end, because whenever we met at the office and then outside again, he was always slightly distant in the beginning. It always took minutes and hours until he was friendly again. I didn’t want this version to disappear, I really liked it—I really liked _him._

That instant thought caused me to detach our lips to take another look at him, to see him. He was in one of Arthur’s shirts I had previously sorted as my own laundry. He was not his original astute businessman ready to win everyone’s favor. He used to be just my boss; who was he to me now?

And I wish I could see myself then, too. How did he see me? An adolescence, new to the world encompassed in his arms, so inexplicably infatuated by him. I used to be just an employee he found cute, who was I to him now?

I swear I felt like he could read my mind in that minute. The way he was not rushing me. The way he was pecking my cheek and forehead; nimble fingers running across my arms and back. I didn’t trust myself with words now; maybe actions were more clarifying. I tilted my neck until his lips caught the side of my mouth and then he took the opportunity, attaching our lips together in a glorifying kiss.

It soon became deep and heated, and god help me I needed him. I had never been hit by such a shattering level of need I was so helpless against him. “Eliott,” I mumbled breathlessly. “I want you,”

“Fuck, baby,” He panted, practically attacking my neck. I didn’t waste more seconds to straddle him, instantly grinding against him. I felt so lightheaded, I wasn’t usually like this. I aimlessly reached for the bottom of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against mine and he complied me. The second his shirt was off I decided to get rid of mine as well but—

“Fuck Lucas I’m the one with hearing aids and you’re the—oh _merde_ Jesus fucking Christ I’m sorry!”

It was the most compromising way anyone could find out; and _Arthur_ of all people? If it were Emma I could never be so ashamed, she was so cool when it came to sex. She didn’t know who Eliott was. But hell, Arthur?

“What the fuck Arthur, get the hell out!” I threw my shirt at the door, quickly stepping away from Eliott’s lap.

“Fine! Sorry!”

And then Elliot had to do the most stupid thing ever and turn his head to the door’s direction.

“Mr. Demaury?” Arthur’s eyes were so comically widened I feared they would pop out of his skull. Then he took a mercy on us and left. It all happened in the matter of two or three seconds but it felt like forever. I ran my palms on my face. I was so embarrassed. Why didn’t I lock the door?

“Well that was unexpected,” Eliott commented after a couple of seconds of silence.

I actually elbowed him in the side. “What the hell? Don’t you care?”

“I think he already knew. He’s dating Noora. If she knows about it, then so does he,”

So my suspicions were in fact correct. Still, what the fuck. How could he be so relax about it.

“I..” He started. “So may I stop sneaking out now?”

Why did I even like this idiot, remind me again.

As much as I hated to admit, he had a point here. Sneaking out like a criminal wouldn’t be necessary anymore. I shrugged as an answer to indicate I didn't care. He found it amusing, even decided to kiss my forehead. I pushed him back with a gentle force. “I’m mad that you’re not mad so like—no. Not on the mood.”

“You're cute,” he ruffled my hair in a testament of affection before dropping back on the creaky bed. He sighed; from relief or promising struggle I did not know.


	13. That’s what I’m afraid of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do my chapters keep getting longer tho🤔  
> Oh by the way be mindful of a few things:  
> 1) There is a minor DARK (Netflix series) spoiler here, but nothing big. Still if you wanted to escape it, just skip a few lines after the "...were my last words to her..." :) Eliott opens about his mother.  
> 2)Vivian Maier was an actual photographer and her self-portraits are really popular. You can simply google her and you'll see the photo Eliott is talking about :)  
> Enjoy <3

**Saturday, December 22 nd, 16:56**

So again I escaped my responsibilities and omitted writing another month, didn’t I? That’s because I was so excited to talk about the next three weeks; the very best of my life—the peace before the hurricane. It all started on an ordinary Saturday afternoon at Nick’s place when we were recording a long coming video of “Cooking with my neighbors”.

Arthur, Nick and I were trying—trying being the key word here—to bake some cinnamon rolls. So far Arthur and I hadn’t burnt his kitchen down which was a relief by itself. Evidently Nick was distressed about us near the fire because we _had_ burnt the bottom of Arthur’s shirt. Nevertheless, it was a refreshing experience— us fumbling in front of a camera while mixing everything together.

“No Lucas you are doing it wrong. You should brush a layer of it, you are bathing It in the cream,” Nick corrected me when I was mixing the cinnamon sauce with some cream and milk. He instructed me to do it properly. I followed his movements closely. “So do not put too much cream guys it’ll cause your rolls to crack,” He said at the camera. It was kind of weird to actually call it ‘guys’ but I let it pass.

“Too much cream, his fantasy,” Arthur murmured under his breath. After catching Eliott and I that morning he wasn’t going to live down the jokes. They were usually harmless but fuck they were starting to annoy the hell out of me.

“Haha funny,” I stepped on Arthur’s feet, reveling in the way he moaned in pain. I looked back at nick with flushed cheeks. “Delete that part,”

“Don’t worry. I don’t think the mic got it anyway,”

“Oh. Cool.” I exhaled with relief, learning a new trick or two from Nick as he placed the rolls in the oven and shut off the camera for a few minutes. He said the video would be uploaded next Monday after he was finished editing it. In the meantime, after we were waiting for the cakes to get ready we decided to play some old video games albeit Nick confessed he’s not a great fan and some old FIFA games were his only CDs.

We had been playing for a few minutes until he casually addressed me. “So I can’t believe you went to the Yankees game. How did you get the tickets? Although It was a charity game it was against the Red Sox. It was sold out in minutes,” Nick questioned me with a friendly teasing tone. I didn’t understand why would he sound teasing.

“I.. a friend of mine I had them,” Was that a lie? Was Eliott a friend? In a way, maybe. Arthur raised his eyebrows in a ‘seriously mate’ gesture.

“Right,” Nick didn’t sound convinced at all.

“What is it?” I asked. “Am I missing something?”

Nick chuckled at that. This time even Arthur gave him a puzzled look. “It’s just—let me show it to you,”

He paused the game to get his phone out to open his YouTube. Arthur and I nestled close to him on the tiny couch to watch as he opened his watch history list. There it was, at the top of the list: _“Jealous boyfriend is done with his life at a baseball match for three minutes straight”._

“What’s this?” Arthur asked.

“Um… I-I searched to watch the best moments of the match and I saw this. It’s Lucas and—”

“What the fuck?” I squeaked, interrupting him. “Why the fuck am I on YouTube?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not trending anymore.” Nick quickly added, as if that would really make me feel any better. _Anymore_? Like It had been trending?

“Can you play it?” Arthur questioned. I glared at him. “What, it’s Demaury’s face!”

 _“What?”_ I snaffled the cellphone from Nick’s hands to actually see the thumbnail and _yes_ ; it was Eliott. I didn’t even wait for Arthur to crane his neck far enough to see the screen before playing the video. It made me hate the internet.

There was Eliott, looking like he had been to a funeral instead of baseball game. Then it was _me_ , sitting right next to him giving him a mix of sultry and outraged looks. The video was an edited of different moments; basically anytime the camera had been on us and obviously it was a lot. Didn’t people have life? How long had it taken for the creator of the video to record and edit us instead of watching the game?

The music that was put on the video made it hundred times worse. It was a sad depressing each time it focused on Eliott— _All around me familiar faces, worn out faces, worn out places_ — and overrated pop song when it zoomed in on me. It seriously looked like Eliott was at a funeral of one of his family members. It got worse, when the camera was scanning the crowd at the inning when I had been away to get a new drink. Everyone were stretching or laughing with each other and he was like an outsider with that stupid song again. They even made the video black and white during those seconds. Then it was the kiss-cam moment, when I kissed the other guy’s cheek and Eliott pulled me back into my seat. _They ask you how you feel and you just have to say you’re fine but you’re really not fine_ meme audio was playing now. Arthur laughed at that part. I couldn’t blame him; If I wasn’t so startled I would have probably had a good laugh myself.

Apparently the camera guy was more invested in our drama than the damned game. It perfectly captured out little conversation and kiss after that. Then the music in the video changed to an extremely cheesy 80’s love song; it had the right to. For the rest of the game each time we were on the camera he was either gazing at me like a love-struck teenager or murdering the poor man next to me with his stare.

“Wow,” Arthur broke the silence. “I want to download that!”

“Your _friend_ must really like you,” Nick confirmed him and made me feel ashamed. _It could have been me_ had surely passed through Nick’s mind but he was being nothing more than a caring friend. I smiled at him, hoping he catch what I meant by it. “By the way I reported the video. But I don’t suppose they take it down or anything because it’s really not violating any community guidelines,”

“It doesn’t matter,” I shrugged. “No-one’s going to know about this anyway,”

“Yeah. So are the cakes ready?” Arthur distracted us and I was thankful for that. I really did hope no-one would remember that considering I had a contract saying I would never tell anyone about the relations between Eliott and I. So far Emma, Arthur, Nick and the 250k people who had viewed that video meant I had done a very _not_ fantastic job at keeping it confidential.

Great.

*****

**Saturday 19:00**

“Come again,” Arthur assessed me. “ _A date_? _Demaury_ asked you on a date _?_ ”

I rolled my eyes with a sigh. “He didn’t use that word in particular but it’s a date,” I defended my previous statement about Eliott and I going on a date because what else was I supposed to even call it if not a date? Two of us going out, him even holding my hands, kissing me, in the end either going home with me or taking me with him. What was I supposed to call? Hanging out? Yeah. Sure.

Arthur crossed his arms, turning the TV volume down and regarding me fully. “Lucas, you know I love you mate but this is really destructing. I see how he cares about you but how long have you two been…” He scratched his forehead, uncertain of which word to use. “seeing each other?”

“I don’t really—“

“No dude. Seriously. How long? At least three months. Maybe four. I’m not—I’m not being pessimistic but don’t you think that four months is enough for someone to make up their mind about you? About the definition of their relationship with you? Don’t go around calling it a date if he’s not calling it one.”

Arthur was wrong. Eliott was just not a vocabulary man. He had changed so much; especially in the last two months. We had spent almost every single weekend together. We had become so close and I cherished that. I was aware of its value, of how far he’d come. He was simply not ready to call it a date yet; I was not going to rush him. I didn’t want to ruin _whatever_ we had by pressuring him to define it.

“Arthur. Just—will you give me that shirt or not?” I told him, ignoring all he said. He realized it too but didn’t pursue for my agreement anymore. I was stubborn when I wanted to be.

“OK, fine. The blue one was it?”

I nodded, following him to his bedroom. He pulled out the blue cardigan from his drawer but before handing it to me he paused. “Be careful with him, OK? Noora and I we—whatever. Just be careful,”

He was hiding something from me—something about Eliott but I was content with not knowing. Whatever it was I wanted to hear it from him. Last Sunday Eliott had even talked to me about his mother. It wasn’t much but it had felt so cordially close and intimate.

_“ ‘I never want to see you again’ were my last words to her. So yes; If I could travel to the past and tell her I never meant those words, I’d do it. If I get stuck in there inside a mental—“ He had paused there, biting his lip to consider his next words. “Mental hospital like that poor guy in the DARK, I’d do it.”_

_“I’d come back and recuse you,” I had whispered back, nestling closer to him, fitting my back against his chest and my arms on his thighs as we sat together on his couch. I had felt so sleepy in his hold to actually realize maybe he meant more by those words, more than just a ramble of opinions one gives at the end of a movie or TV show._

_“That’s what I’m afraid of,” He murmured back, kissing the back of my head._

_“What? Me chasing you through time? I think it’d be pretty romantic,”_

_“No,” He raised to lean on his elbow, looking down at me with the little light of street lamp coming from the window. “That because of you I’d never go back in time in the first place,”_

And _how_ could Arthur, or Emma, or Yann, or anyone accuse him of only desiring the sex with me, of abandoning me, of being selfish, when I had seen him in his most vulnerable and them only relying on words to imagine him.

I was going to be fine. We were going to be fine.

*****

**Saturday 21:04**

I always used to make grossed faces at people who publically displayed their affection but here I was; holding Eliott’s hand as we sauntered through the Gallery’s halls. I was hoping for a dinner but this was more invigorating; I could get to listen to him rave about the photographs on the walls for hours. He was so bright that moment, so full of information he perhaps feared the time wasn’t enough to talk about them all. And he didn’t want to show off; he was just keen to offer me his knowledge.

I tried to keep up with everything he was saying. I nodded, repeated, asked him relevant questions and tried to remain as present as possible.

“You see that one? That’s my favorite,” He pointed to the photograph at the end of the hall: Vivian Maier’s self-portrait—I was not stupid, being surrounded by her photographs for an hour at least and Eliott’s rambling had taught me at least her name. And it was indeed a haunting portrait: The photographer herself with an old camera between two mirrors, creating six to eight reflections.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

“It’s more than beautiful. It’s spectacular,” He said, somehow amazed by my choice of adjective. “You see the angle there? It’s like she failed to put the camera exactly between the mirrors but it’s done with such a precise purpose; to catch her, her struggle to hold the angle, the little flash light still peeking above the mirror. The angle is an end to what could have been a never-ending cycle of reflections over and over and over again.”

I was mesmerized, partly by the photograph but most importantly by him. I had never seen him talk so passionately about anything. He was excellent in the company; his speeches were captivating but they seemed to fade compared to him right now. “This is what you wanted.” I concluded, gripping his hands incredibly tight and secure in mine in fear that this might trigger him to pull away from me or conversation. “The _art._ ”

“I like what I do now,” He was fast to reply. Those were not some words he could genuinely mean. They were the result of years and years repetition—from him or someone else I did not know.

“And you are great at it!” I assured him, watching as his face relaxed. “But I know you would be wonderful at this, too. Best of both worlds,” I added with a teasing one, watching the smile that tugged his lips.

“Best of both worlds,”

*****

**Sunday 10:12**

“Are you sure?” I asked Eliott as he unlocked the other bedroom door in his apartment. That one had always been locked since the first time that I had been there. I was occasionally—fine fuck it, always—curious to figure out what’s concealed behind it. My mind had gotten pretty creative about it: A dead body behind it? Mr. Demaury as a vampire hiding a coffin there, hiding a secret potion of eternal youth and his magical degree, or god forbid one of those stupid playrooms like in 50 shades of grey. _Ugh._

Whatever It was, when he opened that door I was faced with what I least expected: the scent of fresh oil paint and canvas. He just stood to side and let me enter to see it all by myself. I complied his wish in his silence and my god. Those paintings were so _real_. They weren’t _realistic_ nor painted in details but what was supposed to be the center of them was created with so much delicacy and accuracy it almost spoke to me. The first one was a nude man crying with red puffy eyes—his hair and forehead were Eliott’s I was certain. The next few were landscapes and portraits but with a touch of surrealism: a family by the lake with the Saturn instead of sun, a tree but a trapped woman’s hair as its branches, a clock instead of a face in a portrait and so on.

“Eliott. They are…” I was left speechless, my hands millimeters away from the canvas and willing to touch so badly.

“They’re old. It’s fine to touch.” He told me, guiding my hand to close the gap between it and the paintings. I traced the outline of the pictures with nimble touches. I turned my neck to see him. I was so overwhelmed; The creator of them was right next to me. It was the same man who had made me green tea for breakfast and laughed as I scrunched my face with the first taste on my tongue. It was the man who had kissed me so deep in the morning I actually felt my knees losing any strength in them.

“I—Eliott they are so—“

“Beautiful?” He let a nervous laugh, a sham cover for his stress.

“More than beautiful. Spectacular,” I said, walking around the room to see the pencil arts as well. They were not at all less impressive; in fact, they were so much more exquisite. I followed each and every one until I landed the last one. It was a sleeping form: the bare back torso and hips of a man who was sleeping on his side with his hair a mess and his neck muscles tensed. I knew that neck and hair. It was _me._

Eliott noticed I had paused so he decided to explain that one. “I hope you don’t mind it. I know I was slightly carried away with how I treated you in the beginning. I’m not some stalker. I just… I’m not like that with anyone else.”

“I don’t mind.” I said. “Thank you. For saving me like that.”

“Saving you?”

“The drawing. It saved a moment of me from time,” I explained. “I will be forever young in that drawing,”

And he bent down ever so gently to lay kisses upon the side of my neck. I closed my eyes, relishing the attention I was given. And his lips became more insistent and his hands came to rest on my thighs, I turned my head to fully kiss him.

Later that day when he asked me if I wanted to try to paint with him on a blank canvas, I said yes.

*****

**Monday 6:54**

I stretched my arms, kicked off the blanket and laid on the bed with still a drowsy state of mind. I was alone which was no surprise. It was Monday morning and not just a regular Monday. It was just the day before Christmas holidays. Eliott was anxious about how the two-week gap would affect his work so it meant no time for fooling around in the bed. I could smell the fresh scent of coffee from the kitchen and the sound of Mr. Demaury’s steps marching about the house—Eliott’s steps! I sometimes still called him by his surname. I was working on that.

Speaking of the devil, Eliott stepped inside the bedroom, catching the sight of me all awake in the bed. “Hello sleepy head,” He said, bending down to lay an innocent kiss on my forehead swiftly before rushing to his closet. Damn he looked so delicious with that deep red shirt and tight black pants. I wanted nothing more than to get him back on that bed again. I believe the sultry look I was giving him exposed me because he chuckled the second our eyes locked. “Don’t give me that look. You know I’m having a rendezvous with shareholders at 8. It’s an important one,” He warned me in a faux-serious tone, fixing the tie he’d chosen in front of the mirror placed near the wall.

“You can be ten minutes late,” I suggested with a playful grin. I was certain I looked more funny that seductive with the way I was sprawled on the bed. Either way Eliott didn’t seem to mind it much. I crawled by the edge of bed to sit with my legs beneath my thighs, pushing my bum out a little. _That_ definitely didn’t go unnoticed.

“You know I can’t baby,” He swallowed.

I pouted at him, utterly frustrated with the way he was rejecting me. Was that what those wives in American movies meant when they said they were losing their power over their husbands? I wouldn’t have that shit so soon.

“You are always twenty minutes late anyways,” I nagged at him. Then an idea hit me. “Wait what’s that on your shirt? Is that a bread crump?”

He nervously looked down at himself. God that shirt was just the perfect fit for him, hugging his chest and abs tightly. Maybe it was the early morning testosterone talking but why would I deny myself of something so majestic I could have? “Where?”

“There. Come here,” I was solemnly making an effort to be serious. He seemed to buy it, standing in front of me with serious expression until the glint on my eyes gave me away. If anything he didn’t stop me as I brought my face in level with his groin. He was amused. “Right here,” I returned his grin, keeping eye contact as I undid his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear in one go.

He exhaled heavily as I nosed as his erection, fulling rapidly under my ministration which was just breathing. I hadn’t even touched it. So much for _I can’t baby_. “I know you said you can’t be late, Mr. Demaury,” I purred in a fake apology tune, licking at the tip, watching as he was transfixed on my face. Just to make him suffer further I pushed my buttocks out a little more, knowing how he would go crazy with them in the tight briefs. “But this’ll take only five minutes.”

“Five, huh?”

“Or less,” I smiled wickedly before starting to lick him. His reaction was immediate; cursing under his breath and hands coming to grab the hair on the back of my neck. I wanted to be a more brat and mock him about his inability to refuse me but I was too occupied already. I would absolutely tease him about it later but right now I was also horny to say anything.

*****

**Monday 9:20**

OK maybe Saetre had gotten too preoccupied with the Christmas decorations. The office had been the victim of numerous numbers of glitter light ornament and garlands. There was even snow globe on everyone’s desks. Mine wasn’t technically small and handy so I got rid of it by placing it on Brandon’s desk. He could give it to his girlfriend, that poor girl deserved it with all the sex phones she was giving him.

It wasn’t like I had a problem with Christmas but Saetre wasn’t my favorite person around the office; she treated me like I was a criminal for the same thing she was treating herself like a saint for. So what, I slept with Eliott. Wasn’t she the one sleeping with Arthur? I was literally doing what she was. What happened in some people’s brain, seriously?

_*New Message: Arthur: What’s your snow globe? Mine’s a heart_

I rolled my eyes at the message, catching a sight of Brandon as he picked up the two snow globes from his desk, noticed how everyone had one before shrugging and throwing mine in the trash can. Wow, so much for romance and responsibility Brandon.

_*You: Are they any different?_

_*Arthur: Dude seriously yes. All of them are stars and skyscrapers but mine is heart_

_*you: haha I wonder why_

* _Arthur: No wait. Gemma says hers is a star. What’s yours?_

Honestly I had not paid much attention. I walked over to the trash can at the end of the saloon, pretending to throw something in it as I stole away my own present. It consisted of a few cottages on a hill. What was that? I gave it a thorough look, observing it, circling it until I caught a single word at the bottom of it. _Norway. I pulled out my phone to send Arthur a picture of it._

_*You: What does it mean?_

_*Arthur: Noora’s Norwegian. Maybe that._

My mind flew back to Eliott’s schedule I had mocked in September. How I thought him pathetic when I noted he was spending the New Year’s eve alone in a business trip.

_Wait._

I almost sprinted to the conference room. From the glass walls I could clearly see The meeting was still ongoing and Eliott was debating with Charles Munier over something. It wasn’t as heated as the one in their office but it didn’t seem quite professional from the looks the other people in the room were throwing at them. Then Eliott smirked at something Munier said. I could read his lips as he said ‘told you gentleman’. But that wasn’t why I was here.

"Eliott-Mr. Demaury!" I waved at him from afar, pointing to the snow globe. He didn't notice me. Fuck. I waved a little more. 

“Mr. Lallement? Do you need help?” It was Saetre’s voice calling me, completely startling me. “That meeting won’t end in an hour at least. You here is only _distracting._ If you have any questions I could help.”

I turned around, almost losing balance as someone with a ladder walked pass us to the big Christmas tree at the center of the floor. She however stood completely still, only raising an eyebrow at me.

“The snowball you gave me, it was different. “

“Yes. It’s about the business trip. Mr. Demaury’s team is going to _Hemsedal_ for a commercial shooting for a Ski resort. It was a last minute decision to add more people to the team. If you’ve already planned your holidays no worries, we understand. I can put someone else in the list—“

“No!” I interrupted her. “I don’t have anything planned out.”

Because I didn’t. Arthur _was_ on the trip to Norway list so I had to stay over and take care of Emma. Even though I was aware my pregnant friend needed my help more than a professional shooting team could make a use of me I wasn’t throwing away this holiday opportunity. I always loved skiing and the last few weeks, no matter how lovely, had me longing for a real holiday.

“Um. OK. Then I see about it. You had your passport scanned in your files, right?”

I nodded.

“Great. Then we’ll see you at the airport Thursday morning,”

*****

**Monday 18:34**

I was freezing outside but I was absolutely not going to stop. The snow had been falling steadily for the last few hours, making a porcelain pearl white carpet at the side walk. Eliott had offered to drive me home and well, here we were, mouths locked together in the sidewalk. Eliott was incredibly warm with his long thick over coat and too cozy for me to abandon him easily.

“You’re getting soft Eliott Demaury,” I hinted, hands fisted into his shirt to steady myself.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smiled broadly, leaning down for cute nose kiss.

“Did you buy me that snow globe?”

“No. That was on Saetre.”

“But mine was—“

“Hush,” He placed his index finger on my lips. “Somethings better stay unsolved.”

Mysterious brat. I pulled him down to kiss him one more time, laughing as someone across the road yelled _get a room!_ He winded his arms around my waist and deepened the kiss, totally ignoring the comment.

“Come upstairs,” I invited him, voice breathless.

“You know I’m meeting my father tonight. If I could cancel it I’d definitely would,”

“Then tomorrow?”

“Baby I have to meet some people before we’re leaving the city. After that I’m all yours,”

I noticed a snow falling on his lid, melting against the heat of his body and making his eyelashes moist. I took off my gloves to cup the side of his face. I traced the cool skin of his wet eyelid with my thumb. He closed his eyes, instantly leaning into my palm. It gave me the perfect opportunity to memorize him under the street lamp just below my own bedroom. The arch in his eyebrows, his nose, his curled lashes against his high cheekbones. I had grown so accustomed to that face that its beauty had left its mysteries for me, it was now an inexplicably familiar. But not a monotonous familiarity, no, it gave me a sense of home.

Then it hit me. I no longer had a crush on Mr. Demaury.

I was falling in love with _Eliott._

It made me feel scared. So scared and yet so vital. In the exact minute he opened his eyes and maybe it was me imagining things but his eyes were saying ‘me, too’.

I just smiled at him, standing on tip toe to kiss him again. He could be ten minutes late. He chuckled, calling me insatiable in a soft whisper but not rejecting me anyways.

“Uh-hum, excuse me,” someone coughed behind us. “Is this the 34B?”

I— _no way_. I would recognize that voice anywhere. I suddenly turned my head around, causing Eliott to whine. It was sexy but right now my brain was somewhere else.

“Lucas?”

And yes. It was her. A suitcase half her height attached to her side, covered in scarves and sweaters from head to toe. What was she doing here?

*****

**Tuesday 17:34**

Manon was here because Emma thought I’d ditch her in the holidays too. Frankly she had been right. When I told her I would also be joining Arthur and the rest of Eliott’s team for the trip to Norway she just gave me an unimpressed look.

And it was indeed necessary for Manon to be there for a number of reasons: 1) Emma was seven months pregnant now. She often reminded us that early deliveries were always a possibility. 2) I would literally pass out the second I would be face to face with a situation as serious as birth. I’m pretty sure Arthur was no different than me. In fact, he seemed even more stressed anytime Emma merely mentioned something about her water breaking.

“You can stay until the baby’s birth.” Arthur suggested, fixing the tiny Christmas tree he had bought in the living room Emma and I had suggested it was a waste of money but he had purchased it anyways. “I’m pretty sure you’d be a bigger help than Lucas and I combined,”

Thank god for him. He was right.

Manon took a giant sip of her hot chocolate, going through her backpack as if to search for something before addressing Arthur’s comment. “I don’t know. Our chief editor really likes my Articles. I don’t think she’d mind me working from here for a while but still I got to ask her,” She said, then smiled at Emma and I. “You still call it _the baby_? No names or anything like _bean_ or _peanut_?”

At that Emma scoffed. “Yeah sure. The baby will get a name once it’s out. Until then we refer to it as what it is: baby.”

Manon gave her a startled look, whispering a wow.

“I know she’s the most excited mom ever,” Arthur pointed out, putting a small star on the tree. “I bought the first socks and first toys if anyone asked,”

“I’m kicking you two out once I have the baby in my arms,” Emma suddenly announced, victoriously wiggling her eyebrows. She grabbed the plate of biscuits Arthur had prepared from the table and ate two of them, causing Arthur to puff and throw her a callous look. “Unless you’re helping with it,”

“Count on me girl,” I volunteered. I didn’t want to live alone. Call me clingy and needy but if I didn’t have those two idiots during the past months I would have gone insane with the loneliness. Emma smiled that. “I’m keeping you,”

But maybe announcing my presence wasn’t the best decision ever because suddenly Manon’s sparkling eyes were on me with that curious glint in them. Oh gosh I knew the words that would leave her mouths next before she even spoke them. “Lucas, who was that mysterious guy with you last night?”

“Just a colleague,”

Arthur and Emma exchanged a look but thankfully none of them tried to rectify me. Despite that, Manon obviously didn’t believe me. How could she? We had been smooching right at the doorstep when she spotted us. “Oookay,” she said in an awkward tune. “I also got a souvenir for you all. Take it as Christmas gift,”

Arthur squeaked in excitement and when Emma eyed him he just gave her a middle finger. “I’m the only one in this house who’s not dead inside Manon. I swear I can’t even get happy about getting a gift.” He sat by Manon, rubbing his hands together in an expectant manner. Manon motioned for me to scoot closer and I complied. She searched her huge backpack a few more seconds before pulling out a long cotton scarf. “For Arthur. Bas gave it to you, he made it himself,”

Wow. Country life was really getting to Bas, wasn’t it?

“This 2009 vintage whiskey for my one and only love,” She pinched Emma’s cheek. “Please drink it after _the baby_ is born,” She gave Emma the bottle before finally pulling out an old CD for me. “Here. You left this at Mika’s place. He wanted to throw it out, said if you missed it the perhaps you didn’t want it in the first place but—I just figured you might.”

I took it from her. I did recognize the CD. There was my handwriting in a fading market on it ‘ _Lucas’s ultimate car playlist’_ I had made it years ago. I had even forgotten I had it but I was super thankful Manon had saved it. It was just another CD to anyone but it was my first attempt at putting together the songs I liked more. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia, by the memories of my childhood weekends when my mom and I would go out for a day at a park. I had to call her.

“Thanks Manon,” I hugged her. “It’s amazing.”

“She’s Amazing,” Emma said.

“Yeah, she is,” Even Arthur confirmed it.

*****

**Thursday 23:03**

Remind me again please why I hated airplanes in the first place?

8 hours. _8 fucking hours_ of sitting in some seat, four of which with Arthur’s head on my shoulder snorting right into my ear. On some weird occasion he had even called me ‘babe stay’ when I wanted to use the restroom. It was uncomfortable as hell. Even the fly attendant asked me if my boyfriend required anything. My boyfriend-to-be was currently in first class looking like a god even as exhausted as he was, not with drooling spit on my shirt.

Even the window wasn’t providing much view—or relief for that matter. The vision was blurred by the intensity of clouds and thunder was roaring from afar. I decided to put some headphones on and ignore the window for now.

The minute we had landed my phone buzzed with a row of messages from Yann and all the way from there until Hemsdal we were chatting. I was glad about it. Don’t get me wrong, as much as I loved Emma, Manon and Arthur—though him less after the awkward flight—I was still more comfortable with my best friend. And the fact that he was thousands kilometers away and I wouldn’t see him soon somehow made it easier for me to talk to him about everything.It started with a simple message in the train.

_*Notification, Instagram: @y4z4s sent you @em.brgs’ story “What the fuck Manon’s there, too? That’s it I’m coming, too bro. Btw I thought you were staying with her during the holidays?”_

Emma’s first story was the four of us at the airport and the second one was her and Manon at the bakery café she was working in with a caption _‘finally free from the boys. Lol joking, miss you guys xoxo’_ It was the cafe Eliott and I had also gone to few times. I screenshotted it, putting it in my gallery right next to the blurred photo of Eliott I had from the baseball match.

_*You: It was a last-minute change of plans. Eliott’s team are shooting a commercial in Norway._

_*Yann: Eliott?_

_*You: My boss._

_*Yann: Cool. Free holidays._

_*You: I also may have slept with him._

_*Yann:_

_*Yann: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SERIOUS?_

_*Yann: Was it a one-time thing or you’re doing it regularly DETAILS I WANT DETAILS_

_*Yann: Scratch that not that details. Just necessary things. Fuck you know what I mean._

_*Yann: Jesus you said you he was hot but I didn’t think it was **him**_

_*Yann: ANSWER ME LUCAS LALLEMENT_

I was getting some serious looks from everyone around me with the trail of notification sounds. I silenced my phone quickly, catching Eliott’s eyes from the other side of the van from where he was talking to Saetre and one of his other copy writers. He had been staring already. I smiled at him for a second before typing Yann’s answer.

_*You: One text at a time if you want an answer for all._

_*Yann: Don’t play clever with me. I was specific when I told you no more douchebags._

_*You: He’s not a douche, OK? He’s been good._

_*Yann: So it **has** been going on. How long _

_*You: Four months? Don’t hate me._

_*Yann: FOUR and you’re only telling me now? I told you about Marion the day I met her. The very day!_

_*You: It wasn’t serious then, OK?_

_*Yann: That doesn’t excuse you._

_*You:_ :’(

_*Yann: You can’t fool me with that. Just one thing, he’s treating you nicely, hm?_

_*You: Yes, Yann, very much. He’s different from everyone._

I detached my eyes from the phone screen. The luxurious van taking us to the ski resort, the lights of the road and the clear view of the sky ahead of us. No-one had ever taken me to a new year holiday.

“Hey, we’re almost there!” The driver informed us, turning down the radio volume. I cleaned the fogged up window with the back of my sleeves to see our destination first. And it was indeed magnificent.

In less than ten minutes away Arthur and I were rolling our suitcases through the lobby, counting the elevators and stairs to find our room. Compared to the golden entrance with the silvery chandelier, the classical music and the gentleman attendant that had welcomed us, our room was quite ordinary. I didn’t think the company was trying to give us the best _holidays._ “It is not a vacation after all!” Arthur grumpily stated before claiming the bed near the fireplace. I was left with one glued to the window and holy hell it was the most freezing night of my life. _It’s Norway buddy,_ my mind supplied with bitter sarcasm.

I didn’t waste a second before getting rid of my shoes and jumping on the bed. I slept in my jeans and sweatshirt but I didn’t mind at all. It was one of the deepest and most satisfying sleeps I ever had. In fact too comfortable to notice the two missed calls and texts from Eliott:

_I’m in 407A. You could join me if you want._

_Are you asleep already? I know we saw each other a lot today but still, I miss you._


	14. Take a chance on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was a roller-coaster😅  
> If anyone's interested the songs mentioned in this chapter are 'Take a chance on me' by ABBA and 'Heaven' by Bryan Adams :)

**Friday 10:23**

Ah yes. Even the new year’s holiday didn’t mean anything to Eliott Demaury when it came to work.

I was dressed in five layers of clothes and even with those I felt ridiculously freezing cold. Saetre was throwing some very judgmental looks at me from where she was unbelievably in a mere jacket and a pencil skirt. How was she not dead— _Noora is from Norway._ Ok so she was understandable; the confusing thing was literally everyone else. Did they all become polar bears completely insulated to cold now? Arthur was in a simple jacket. That’s it. A jacket. How the hell?

“No I want the angle lower. Much lower. Is this porn or something? Why is your camera stuck at his groin? I want his boots in the frame!” Eliott was yelling at the camera man. Evidently the premise for this ad followed a couple who would get off the train in a wrong station but that tiny mistake makes this holiday unforgettable for them. Eliott’s strategy was for it to look like a Romcom movie trailer for the first thirty seconds because he wanted to attract the attentions of viewers. They had to take few footages from the ski resort, a montage or two from the hotel lobby: one in the new year’s ever party and one on a regular day in the area. Then there would be one from the tele cabin pathways, the road and the Bergen-Oslo train route.

It wasn’t anything creative but Eliott was still very keen on getting each and every angle exactly according to his previous sketches. He was taking double, sometimes triple takes from a same scene and it was driving everyone insane. Poor Sofian looked like he’d lost a year of his life since the morning. I could swear there was a new wrinkle on his forehead.

Arthur was also pretty busy, helping the filming crew set the sights and explaining the camera angles to them. Eliott seemed impressed by him. Maybe it was because of Arthur being my friend or the fact that he was devoted to this project. Anyways, Eliott had patted his back once, praising him with a plain ‘good-job’ and that had Arthur almost jumping with his victorious grin. He mouthed at one of the other new guys ‘Did you see that omg!’ And the other intern nodded very enthusiastically. I had almost forgotten how rare it was to be praised by The Mr. Demaury now that I received it on daily basis.

“Explain to me how are his boots in this frame? Because all I see is a black screen!” Jesus Christ Eliott was losing it. I was aware how important it was for him to appear professional in front of the filming crew and the present members from the Ski resort’s representing team. He was incisively rubbing at his temples.

Sofian addressed him as he furiously sat down on his chair, waiting for the skiers to get ready for another take. “Eliott are you alright? Can you give up this one shot? It’s very difficult to settle the camera without knowing exactly where the skier is going to land.”

He shook his head, stubborn as a five year-old. “No that one’s necessary. It’s going to add dimension to the commercial. It’s just—I’m pretty sure this guy hasn’t touched a camera expect the one on his phone,” he paused before calling out to me. “Lucas, call Amanda Silverstone from _SeaWill,_ tell them we’re no longer interested in continuing our contract. Also find another filming team. Just make sure we are not going to waste this much time on the next project.”

“Already found three Sir, sent you their website links,” I was certain he’d ask that since the minute the guy with camera fucked up the third time.

“Don’t have time for that. Choose one yourself,” Despite his dismissive voice, he was giving me a complimentary and proud look, so warm and in contrast with how he was regarding others.

*****

**Friday 16:09**

I was either getting used to the weather or I was losing nerve endings. Maybe both. After the lunch, the gnawing filming continued. I still talked to Eliott but not in the way I wanted. I don’t know what I expected. This was a business trip after all, not a honeymoon; and yet… this was unbelievably frustrating. I was growing restless after so many hours of being ignored.

Right now Eliott was having a cup of hot chocolate with a broad blonde guy who seemed to be the hotel’s manager. They were discussing the details of the new year’s eve party, and how Eliott wanted to film it. The director from the filming crew was also there, taking some notes to himself. So far, they didn’t have much progress, they looked like they seriously needed a break. However, Eliott’s tyrant side was on screen now; they couldn’t waste a second today.

I pulled out my phone to send him a text,

* _You: hey handsome, you might want to take a break_

I could see him glancing quickly at his phone screen but he was still talking to the damned manager. Did he just—ignore my messages? Maybe I had to send something more flirtatious.

* _You: Meet me in the lobby’s bathroom in five minutes ;)_

Again, a glance and nothing. He didn’t even touch his screen. Fine.

 _*You: I’d blow you so good you get a boner each time someone even mentions ski_.

So him chuckling at his phone wasn’t what I had in mind. Did I send him a joke? That was sexy, wasn’t it? I glared him when our eyes met and sent him a final text.

_*You: I hope you get cold and a burning sore throat._

_*You: brat._

He dismissed the director, smiling at his phone before sending me a quick ‘ _don’t be mean baby it doesn’t suit you’_

_*You: It suits me perfectly._

_*Brat—new number: I’m working._

I didn’t respond. Eliott sighed before typing again.

_*Brat—new number: OK. Five minutes, lobby bathroom?_

Huh what a dick. Now that he’d said it, it must be done, huh?

_*You: What makes you think I want to know your pissing schedule_

I tetchily wrapped my hands around myself and sat still right where I was. I hadn’t met him three days prior to the flight, gotten nothing affectionate from him since then and here he was mocking me. So yes, maybe I _was_ pissed.

*****

**Friday 22:22**

“Where are you going?” I asked Arthur who was stocking a towel and some clothes in a bag. I had no idea how he was still standing. I had crawled under the blankets the second we were back inside, ordered a soup and prayed to myself I wouldn’t get sick.

“Swimming,”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I snarled at him. “Isn’t it a little too hot for a swim?”

“Actually no. I get a little chill, then when I come back, the medium temperature room will be warm to me. Oh and by the way I’m not coming back tonight.”

“Why?”

He smugly smirked. “Take a guess,” And then he winked. Well at least someone was getting romanced here. Eliott hadn’t bothered to even send me a text after my last text. Maybe I was going harsh on him, expecting him to be all ebullient and lovey-dovey after the filming disasters and falling behind his schedules. But at least I did deserve some reverence for myself not to beg him. _OK. Five minutes, lobby bathroom?_ What the fuck. It sounded like I had forced it upon him.

“Aren’t you going to … Demaury’s room?” Arthur questioned me, few steps from the door.

“No.”

“Troubles in paradise?”

“Fuck off!”

“OK, OK, calm down!” He mumbled, no further questioning me before closing the door behind. “Lock the door!”

I reached for my phone, still no texts. I shambled out of the bed, locked the damned door and decided to leave it at that. So much for a trip together.

*****

**Saturday 19:56**

The filming the scenes from the open area was over. There were still three scenes left; one from inside the train, one in the nearest station and finally one from the party in three days. So after today, we would still have two days left to actually _have_ a holiday. Eliott still hadn’t texted me. Screw texts, I hadn’t even gotten a single look from him. But I knew he wasn’t being ignorant on purpose. I hadn’t seen him sit all day. Hell, I hadn’t seen him chill for a second. He portrayed a man completely possessed; he was trying so many scenes, so many ideas, he was talking too fast for anyone to catch up with him. I was sure other people had noticed, too. Some of the other employees were exchanging looks, especially at a particular moment when he took the camera himself to film. That was pretty unexpected.

But I suppose it was just those instincts of his that made him believe he had to be the one in charge and in control of everything.

So fuck it, I sent him a text anyways _. You’re doing great <3 _

*****

**Saturday 23:53**

“Fuck Arthur I kill you!” I cried out as the banging on my door became louder and more insistent. I had finally treated myself with a warm bath and some lovely champagne before going to bed and honestly I was having a nice dream, something about aliens coming to earth to plant sweet trees. And then it was Arthur’s loud banging at the door like a maniac. “I’m coming Jesus,”

But it wasn’t Arthur behind my door, no. Suddenly I was hit with a wave of deja-vu; of him behind my door again and again and again. But this time he was more restless, simultaneously strained and alert. He was breathing rapidly and there were traces of snow on his turtle neck and boots. Jesus, had he been running? Outside? It was midnight. It was minus 14 degrees.

“Hey,” He said.

“Eliott what the fuck, are you OK?”

He didn’t answer; instead grabbed me and kissed me hungrily. I touched the side of his jaw to hold some balance—he was freezing to death. His shirt was soaked with both melting ice and sweat and he was shivering.

I pulled back from him, watching him with perhaps millions of questions in my eyes. “Eliott talk to me,” I encouraged him. “What’s going on?”

“I-I found the perfect spot. For-for-for tomorrow’s final shot. It’s perfect Lucas, you should see it. It’s like fairytale! Oh my god we should also put that fairy tale song on the ad, you know the one? It was on Eurovision many years ago—it would be so perfect!” He said all of that in one breath. 

He was high. Definitely high. “Did you—did you run to the station?”

“No. I took a taxi. I couldn’t sleep until I had seen the spot with my own eyes,” He babbled. “I wanted to tell you,”

This was very tricky. I couldn’t straight up ask him what sort of drug he had taken. He usually looked after himself. I had never seen him use any sort of substance before so maybe his body was overreacting. Instead I decided to help him get rid of the sloppy clothes. He was somehow disappointed by me not getting all excited about the idea of train station but he was still talking about it. His sentences were so disoriented and aimless, almost like his mind wasn’t able to concentrate on one thing at a time.

I guided him to the bathroom, asked him to take a bath while I searched my suitcase for something that would suit him. I found one of my own hoodies that would do but ended up stealing a pair of sweatpants from Arthur.

I still had a bowel of oat soup in the fridge. I didn’t want to call the room service—technically I could, but I didn’t want to make a fuss. I put the bowel near the heater and waited for Eliott to finish his bath. Meanwhile I splayed his stuff on Arthur’s bed, waiting for them to dry out. I also searched for his phone through his pockets though I couldn’t find it.

It was probably stuck his room. I hadn’t seen him use it during the day as well. He probably hadn’t seen my message at all.

I was so anxious; I wasn’t used to seeing him in such a state. He was always so graceful even in his anger, now he just resembled an unleashed insomniac experiencing the height of his euphoria.

*****

**Sunday 9:31**

Whatever drug Eliott had been on last night was losing its effects. I had fallen asleep while waiting for him to finish his eternal bath, woke up with to already bringing some breakfast in-bed for me. He was still too exuberant, bit out of character for him but at least he hadn’t gone running the entire mountain in the morning. So that was good.

He told me he’d asked Sofian to postpone filming the station scene to tomorrow because he was certain he’d be quite perfectionist when It came to that. Moreover, he said he was still exhausted after yesterday’s filming but if you ask me it was the night time activity was responsible for it.

Anyways I didn’t voice a protest when he suggested us going skiing. After two days spending in a ski resort he was eventually giving into the temptation to put those ski boots and ice grips on.

I was on cloud nine since he suggested it; not even giving shit about the fact that I was wearing a vibrant hot pink approach coat. I got it in a hurry from Emma’s old friend that Bianchi guy. This was the only one in my size that I could actually afford and even though it looked pretty ridiculous it really felt like a volcano in it. I put enough junk food to feed a tribe in my backpack and then some extra sweaters incase for whatever reason the five layers of clothing wouldn’t be sufficient.

I met Eliott right at the next to the Chairlift facility. He was already waiting for me with a ticket and a pair of extra goggles and poles. It made feel somehow silly to have not even consider it but anyways, my man was always solicitous and considerate. I joined him the second our eyes locked again, already missing him since his morning after he left me to get ready.

“Hey,” I greeted him, that dumbass love-struck smile on my face.

“Hello to you,” He smiled, bending down to give quite a surprising kiss. I don’t know, didn’t he want to appear professional in front of these people? Was kissing his secretary, PA, employee, etc, kind of unprofessional?

I didn’t complain though, just linked my arm around his as we waited for the next chairlift. “This color suits you.”

“This?” I scoffed gently. “I thought it’s ridiculous,”

“On you? You’d make a potato bag look cute,” He whispered to me, untying our linked arm to lace our gloved fingers together. It made me blush so stupidly hard and I was grateful it could also be blamed on the cold.

“You’d think a potato bag look good on me but when I was all dressed-up in that charity party you didn’t even seem to see me,” I teased him, mentioning the charity party from the few weeks ago. Gosh it seemed years ago, how uncertain I had been about him, how estranged he felt. I had been so angry, so regretful I had attended to the ball in the first place. I used to think getting dressed up was all pointless.

“Who said I didn’t?” Eliott sounded so startled. “I was looking at you the entire night, yet you were so grumpy and strained in your own world you didn’t notice. In fact, you were all I saw; all angry at the whole world. That suit matched your eyes perfectly,”

I didn’t even register that it was our turn to get on the chairlift, delighted by Eliott’s words. I couldn’t believe my ears. How could he say those words, did he not know what could they do to my already hopeless mind? I was so close to falling for him, he wasn’t allowed to tempt me further. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” He chuckled, pulling me to himself to kiss me and I was so desperate for it, more desperate for a public setting. I winded my arms around his waist to deepen it, so close to cancel everything and ask him to just send the day in one of our rooms. We were interrupted by a cough from the person behind us in line, asking us if we’d like to hurry up because it was our turn.

The ride wasn’t long, but oh boy it was worth it. We spent nearly half of it making out with again rather inappropriately for anything out of bedroom, even getting a few whistles from the lift full of young adults passing us from the opposite side. It was so embarrassing but the sight around us won my attention in the end. I detached my lips from his, watching the mountains and the pine tree jungles surrounding their roots. There was even a village not very far, and I wish instead of the hotel we could sneak out to one of those. Eliott wasn’t paying any mind to any of them though, his lips still felt quite starved from they were mouthing at my neck.

“Let’s go back,” He said in a hoarse voice, trailing one of his hands on my thigh.

“No,” I answered. “You could have this last night had you not gotten high”

“Wasn’t high.” He murmured into my ear, insistent. I was really going to get a boner if he continued like that. “quickie?”

“After this ski, I promise.”

“But today I have to meet someone in the town near-by. We probably even spend the night there. come on baby...”

“Then tomorrow,”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He groaned, still continuing to kiss me anyways.

*****

**Saturday 12:00**

If someone told me a year ago that I would spend the next year holidays skiing with one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen in a reserved vacation I’d call them delusional. Yet here I was.

We had finally finished the skiing, though I was extremely inexperienced (read: horrible). Give me a pass on this I had never had the chance to do it professionally. Eliott was a very instructive teacher though; I had such a grand progress in the last three hours, from a 1 at skiing to perhaps a 4 and a half. That’s a lot. Still eventually we had to walk the last hour because my legs were seriously killing me. I expected some eye-roll but all I got was a chuckle.

And it was fun. It was easy. It was fantastic.

Still he did end up rolling his eyes when I asked him to take some pictures of me for my Instagram and I accused him he would also get to see him since he was my Instagram stalker. All he did was dismissively shrugging, as if to say not like you hate it. And he was right, I didn’t.

*****

**Monday 17:03**

We wrapped up the filming Monday afternoon, sometime near 4 p.m. Then the crew suggested going to a nearby village for some bear. Saetre was gloating about the strong beers in the Nordic bars, saying how none of us could even finish half a pint of, I quote, _real ass Aquavit_. From the station to the nearest town was a little more than thirty minutes. Most of the people took some vans but Eliott was able to rent a small vintage car. He said the hotel manager suggested it since it might come in handy in case we wanted to go sightseeing. Arthur even asked me to convince Eliott to let him tag along as well but I just gave him a dry no. He ended posting a story about me on his Instagram with a satanic effect but it was completely worth whatever that followed.

I was sitting next to Eliott in the front seats, humming to some melody while going through every radio station searching for a perfect song for our ride. That’s right. Besides, he had actually let me play anything else other than his loud music. In the end I had to use an AUX because I wasn’t in the mood for Christmas music and that was literally the only thing on the radio. I had enough of that from the hotel’s speakers seriously. 

“Not a fan of Christmas music?” He pointed as I shuffled my playlist.

“I like Christmas music. I start listening to it from November,” I confessed, making him chuckle. “I’m just so tired of hearing it everywhere _during_ the chritmas—Oh I get it,” I said as I stretched my arm to get Eliott’s ringing from the backseat.

“Who is it?”

“Nathan Danvers,” I knew him, he was Mr. Alaouli’s PA.

“It’s OK. You take it.”

I reluctantly turned down the music volume, swiped right on the phone and answered.

“Hello?”

_“Lucas? Is that you?”_

“Yes. Mr. Demaury is driving.”

“ _Um- it’s—some of the footage is missing. This guy, Jim, says it’s something to do with the SD. We are heading back to retake them. I guess tonight is cancelled. Would you ask Demaury if we should wait for you guys as well?”_

I put him on the hold, explained everything to Eliott. I expected outrage and sighing yet he didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. There was even a tiny trace of smile in the corner of his lips. “Tell him no, we’re going to the town,”

“Are you sure?” I asked him. “I know it’s important to you and all—“

“Do you want to go?”

“No,” I answered, biting my lips playfully.

“Then we won’t,” He smiled, even checking one of those ‘our fisrt’ lists when he grabbed my hand and held it. So holding a hand while driving while listening to my songs, with him for the first time postponing work? I could get used to that.

“OK,” I said.

*****

**Monday 21:03**

“No I already said it—Jesus Arthur,” I said, a little exasperated, how many times did I have to repeat. Eliott was sitting on the bed watching me with a beguiled expression. It was a surreal image, seeing him in such a cozy atmosphere; a tiny fireplace, a small bed that probably was too short for him and his legs would dangle from it, some oatmeal and cheap bear on the table next to him. I don’t think he had ever rented a room in someone’s house before. “We can’t. It’s like sky’s torn or something. I can’t even see two meters ahead of me from the window! Of course we can’t _just drive_!”

I don’t even register how we’d come to this. One minute we had been driving with me teasing Eliott with a hand on his thigh, next I had witnessed the heaviest snow of my life. We were lucky we were close to our destination. First we sought shelter in a bar until the sky shows some sign of mercy. But nope. We even tried to search about the weather but it was devastating, it was apparently going to rain until tomorrow noon.

Just as we were googling any motels nearby the bar owner offered us to take a room upstairs. They were an old friendly couple, _‘our son couldn’t get a ticket this Christmas, but his room is very clean I assure you’_ The wife had advertised. ‘ _we certainly didn’t count for an unbidden guest but your boyfriend looks a lot like him. You could spend the night.’_

And we didn’t really have a better choice. The nearest motel was all booked. The room was tidy and warm, with a beautiful view. It was better than my shared room with Arthur, which speaking of, didn’t sound quite satisfied over the phone. “OK, wait... Sweetheart he can’t. He doesn’t even have signal; he’s calling from some motel.” Then it was silent. “Yes, I did,” Then another pause before. “Fine. But you can’t miss tomorrow night. We have to shoot it.”

I rubbed at my eyes impatiently. “If we can, we will!”

I felt a pair of arms sliding around my waist and playful lips on the back of my neck. It wasn’t sexual, just incredibly domestic. Arthur finally sighed, accepting his defeat and reminding me _again_ not to forget about tomorrow night. I rolled my eyes, pretty sure those eye muscles would be so sore that night before hanging up.

“Fuck I’m so done with them!” I groaned into my own hands. Eliott only giggled, was that funny? It made me smile. Unbelievable. He wasn’t allowed to have that kind of power over me. It was so unfair. Had I been stuck in a snowy road with anyone else I’d panic but with him, it was all thrilling. Trusting two complete strangers and renting their upstairs bedroom? I would have never done that shit. However, with Eliott I didn’t think anything could hurt me. It was an irrational thought but try telling that to my mind.

“Do you hear that?” Eliott murmured into my ear, swaying his body to… downstairs music? Actually I could hear it. _‘… have flown, honey I’m still free, take a chance on me.…’_ was that ABBA? Oh. The people in the bar were all over forty. But it did have a catching melody to it and I found myself not really minding as Eliott gently spun me around to dance with me.

Another first. We had so many, and yet so many more to explore.

To my surprise he was singing to the lyrics. But it wasn’t to show off his voice, no, it was purely for the sake of his himself. “Dance with me.” He asked me, leisure lurching became a more graceful swaying as I abided by his wish.

It had to be funny, he was still in his coat and I was in one of the excess sweaters I had brought—not to mention it was an angry bird one, dancing to a song our parents could have danced to at some point, million miles away from both of our homes. Despite all of that, it emitted a sense of rare excellence, what were the odds? How many other parallel me were doing the exact same thing in this very time? There couldn’t be more than five or six.

So I took the full pleasure of it, making up for all other versions of me deprived of it. We were fully dancing to it now, nothing romantic but it was weirdly fun. By the time it was closing its end we were imitating each other’s moves in a sarcastic yet exaggerated way and laughing at the absurdity of it or just stumbling and holding onto each other. Eliott was fun. It had just taken me some time to discover it.

The song ended with us grinning at one another with full-on teeth. We were waiting for the next song, something fun again when it was the turn for a surprise _‘… oh thinking about our younger years, there was only you and me…’_ I knew that song, it was on my parent’s wedding mixtape. My mom used to love it but after my dad left us she absolutely despised any song on that cassette. I hadn’t heard it since I was thirteen or fourteen and still, I had the lyrics memorized.

I didn’t know how to react. This was a very romantic song, fuck it was on _a wedding tape._ Maybe Eliott wouldn’t be comfortable dancing with me to that. I decided to ask him this without using any words but when I dared to look him in the eyes I realized perhaps it wasn’t necessary. He was already closing the little gap between us without being awkward. Seeing this comfort set my mind at ease and I participated.

We couldn’t do much except slow-dancing but I hadn’t slow danced with anyone since that one time I had gotten drunk at Mika’s bar and ended up dancing with half the people. But I wasn’t sober so it doesn’t count. And even if I had danced with people, this was a different feeling _. ‘…baby you’re all that I want…’_ Eliott tightened our embrace with that line. I separated my hands from his to place them both on his shoulders, right when they met his neck. He didn’t waste a second in wrapping them around my waist again. It wasn’t a beautiful dance to an outsider, it was disorganized, but to me, I had never felt more cherished.

“I wanted to dance with you,” Eliott whispered.

“Hm?”

“The gala night. I had to stand dancing with some of my clients, in a way of showing gratitude for their presence. I wanted to dance with you though,”

 _Screw him_. I wasn’t used to this version of him. I used to think the old asshole version was hot but this, this one could use some of the sappiest shit I heard and it would make my belly coil. I leaned on him even more, if that was possible. “I bet your clients won’t be happy to hear that,”

“Well they aren’t here, are they?” I could hear his smiled now.

“Guess you are stuck with me for tonight,” And yes, the snow was still going at it quite strong, showing no sign of giving the world a break.

“Then I hope tomorrow never comes,” He stopped moving, cupped my face and looked into my eyes. “I could build that baby universe right here, right now.”

“How small would it be?” We were practically talking nonsense right now. Or we were entering the new philosophical side of our adventures. Either way it was clear it wouldn’t last long with the way his hands were falling from my waist to my hips.

“Well for starter… us, the noisy people downstairs, ABBA songs and the cheap beer we had in the afternoon.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” I sounded so small; even universe did actually reduce to only this house, I’d be pretty big in comparison to the _new_ entire world. But maybe this was my intoxicated brain saying that, some part of it wishing it’d come true so we would always stay here.

“Good,” He didn’t say anything else as his lips touched mine. I closed my eyes instantly, putting all the unsaid into my kiss.

*****

**Monday 21:34**

The music was still a distant noise in the background, a Christmas song, Norwegian, but I couldn’t hear too much of it over the sound of my own rapid panting.

With a hand clawing at the back of his head and one digging into the muscle of his shoulder, the best I could do was to surrender to my body. He didn’t appear to be in control any more than me. With his sweaty forehead pressed into the side of my face and his unrelenting grip on my hips and ass.

“Oh fuck baby-“ He moaned as I rode him faster. The angle wasn’t the most comfortable with both of us sitting but he was so deep, so close, it was _too much_. “Look at me,”

I did, and he was complete wreck. His puffy lips, strings of hair attached to his forehead, His pupil empowering his entire iris. I probably had the same condition, judging from the way his eyes were fixed on mine. I smiled at him, or maybe at myself, or perhaps my body was just ecstatic from the pleasure and it was playing theatrical games.

“You’re so beautiful,” He panted, in awe, before surging up to kiss me, and just like our dance earlier, it wasn’t exactly graceful, but the feel of his tongue in my mouth, thrusting in it just in harmony with his cock was turning my very core to jelly.

“You’re more,” I gasped into his face. He chuckled into my mouth anyway, before holding my hips and making me bounce harder, and fuck—embarrassingly—I convulsed violently around him and came untouched. Eliott seemed just as shocked as I was but soon he was even more aroused by it, laying me down to cover my body with his, like he couldn’t stand the idea of not doing it. And I was grateful; with my limbs still shaking with aftershocks.

“Fuck—you –I –“ his raspy voice was so broken into my ear. I held him close as possible, bit my lips so hard to restrain myself from adjusting his word in the only sentence my drowsed mind could provide ‘I love you too’

*****

**Tuesday 8:37**

I woke up to the fresh scent of toast and bacon. My blanket felt warm and the world outside the window was in complete voice. Maybe this baby universe wasn’t as tedious as I initially assumed. I rolled to the side, wanting to curl myself around Eliott but his side was empty. “Eliott?”

Then I heard his voice, laughing with someone. I checked my phone; it was not even 9, and we slept late. How was he this early?

I put on my jeans and a sweater, strode out of the tiny bedroom to find him.

He was in the kitchen, laughing and joking with the old couple, wearing a cardigan that evidently belonged to the old man, and finally _making breakfast for them?_ The old woman—Sigrid If I remember correctly—was asking him something about what he was making and Eliott was explaining to her about the tricks he had learnt with pan. He wasn’t perfect but he was enthusiastic enough to make up for it.

Sigrid’s eyes caught me and she waved with a kind smile. “Your man was teaching me how to make the greatest bacon,”

“I’m just borrowing the pan and she’s observing. If anything she’s the one instructing me!” Eliott beamed, walking to me and giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “You look sexy in pajamas,” He quietly added, only for me to hear. I blushed involuntarily, following him to see the pan for myself. It did smell wonderful. I had never seen him cook anything.

“Hmm, I hope they taste as well as they smell,”

“We’ll see,” Eliott wiggled his eyebrows.

“You two remind me of my son and his wife. Ah to be young and in love. It’s all in those eyes.” Sigrid commented, sighing. I stole my gaze from him. _Do you really think you aren’t obvious?_ A voice in my mind supplied. Still, she couldn’t have only meant me _. It must be in his eyes, too_ … right _?_

“Thanks,” Eliott answered, squeezing my arm. “By the way your taste in music is great. I like gold oldies, too.” There he was changing the subject again in front of others again.

“Oh my,” She covered her mouth in a comical expression of shame. “I’m sorry for the thin walls! I told Magus we should play them so loud but—“

“No worries. Really. You’ve already been too generous. And the music was awesome,” I politely told her, and I meant it. Last night was hands down the best night of my life. I wish It would have never ended.

*****

**Tuesday 22:00**

“Boy you are so in love it’s making me uncomfortable.” Arthur derided, throwing his tie at the end of my bed. “Instead of laying in the bed looking like a virgin maiden kissed for the first time help me with my tie.”

I couldn’t even bother to get aggrieved. Not after the perfect day I experienced so far.

The breakfast with the old lovely couple who even gave us their number, asking us to visit soon. A walk in the pristine white streets of the small town while discussing all the possibilities of running away. I even managed to snap a picture of him when he was buying us two cups of hot chocolate. It was the best I had managed to take from him. I kept going back to it over and over again since we said goodbye near the lobby.

After tonight’s filming we were officially done with this commercial and we were to leave tomorrow morning. In spite of missing my own bed I wanted to stay. I was fully aware of how real this place was, but a stubborn part of me kept insisting it was a fairytale, as stupid as that sounds and that does sound stupid.

Anyways, with a dreamy look on my face, I helped Arthur and found my own blue velvet coat, this time positive that I was going to be found attractive by the person I cared most about.

*****

**Tuesday 22:54**

Where the fuck was him? Sofian was helping the director film the party but they were exchanging looks. He was usually some minutes late, but never this late. He wasn’t even answering his phone. I really didn’t have a choice when I decided to go up to his room.

Maybe it wasn’t my place but Saetre was lost as well. Look I knew they weren’t onto anything. Eliott couldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t. He loved me. But something serious was happening because even Arthur was distressed. The entire evening, he had tried desperately to keep me close to him, to prevent me from actually searching for Eliott.

The second he had excused himself to use the restroom I took the opportunity and used to elevator. If I could go back in time, I would have listened to him. Or maybe I wouldn’t have. I never know. And that’s why I’m grateful time is something you can’t turn back.

The 4th floor was completely vacant; no wonder with the party downstairs. I still remembered his room number, 407A. So it had to be on the right side. I walked along the corridor, keeping an eye on each door to find his. It wasn’t in the main hallway. At the end corridor concluded into two smaller hallways. It had to be in one of those.

Just when I was about to randomly select one of them I heard a familiar voice, the very Noora Saetre also missing from the party. She was talking to someone on the phone. _‘…. arrived few hours ago… I wish you informed us earlier…. No it’s not a problem at all… yes, yes,I see what I can do…absolutely…you, too sir’_

She sighed, leaning with her back against the wall, running her hands through her hair. For a second I was hesitant to actually go there but if anything she was the first person to learn about Eliott and I’s relationship. I took a deep breath and portrayed some faux confidence as I walked to Eliott’s door. Yes, it was the one she was standing next to.

She quickly pulled herself together, standing straight and observing me. “What are you doing here?”

“The filming crew down stairs require him. And he’s not answering his phone.”

“I see to that, thank you.” I noted how she was fidgeting with the material of her dress—it was the first time I saw her in one. Her other hand was doubtfully pressing her cell phone to her side, not sure if to put it in her handbag or not. Her eyes also glanced to the door every other second. “You can go now.”

I was still hesitant skeptical about the whole situation. However, I decided to listen to her when there was a startling crashing sound in his room. It sounded close to something like vase or glass falling on the floor. I wasn’t going to leave now.

“What was that?” I asked her.

She closed her eyes in a momentarily defeat before regaining her previous reassured posture. “You should go.”

Like hell I wasn’t going to. I raised my hand to his door, ready to knock when she held my wrist in her hold, dragging me away from his room. “What the hell? Let me go!” I was able to free myself from her grip fast. I don’t think that hold wasn’t meant to be unbreakable, it was only to distract me.

“Look Lallement,” She said, eyes focused on me, observing my very soul. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Someone yelled in that room just as she was _politely ordering_ me to leave. She was the very picture of frustration now.

“What’s going on there? Is he Alright?” I was only concerned.

“We’ll discuss this tomorrow, OK?”

“Discuss what? Someone’s throwing furniture at him!”

“Well maybe he had it coming!”

 _What?_ “What are you talking about?”

“You of all people should know what I’m talking about!” She motioned to the fading traces of hickeys on the side of my jaw. They weren’t very obvious but apparently not invisible enough to hide from her sharp eyes. So that’s what this was about? Me sleeping with him? This excuse was infuriating the fuck out of me. She was guilty of the same crime and thankfully, in the exact minute her phone screen lit up with an upcoming call from Arthur. She declined it rapidly but I had already seen it.

“Well that looks a little like double standards, doesn’t it?”

“Don’t goad me!” That was a last warning. If I was any less obstinate, perhaps I wouldn’t have provoked her any further but I wasn’t.

“I don’t see Arthur getting half of this criticism and attitude for doing the exact same thing!” 

“Well because maybe I’m not getting married in two months!”

What.

That word was written all over her face, too. But my ‘what’ was more like a confused one and hers was a more regretful one: _What have I done_ , her face was screaming. She scrunched her face in repentance and yet, relief. “Are you satisfied now?” she muttered.

“What do you mean—“

“Noora? Lucas?” It was Arthur, emerging from one of the elevators near us. I couldn’t honestly care less about suddenly disappearing from the party downstairs. My mind was racing through all logic and emotion with so much speed I was already feeling dizzy. _because maybe I’m not getting married in two months…_ That was an example. So one of us four was getting married. She eliminated herself with that confession. As far as I was aware Arthur wasn’t marrying anyone. I wasn’t marrying anyone. Eliott—he wasn’t. couldn’t. he wouldn’t do that. No. What was straight up bullshit.

But I knew Saetre. She wasn’t the type to joke around with colleagues, specially this type of gossipy nonsense that didn’t mean anything and could be revealed false easily.

“Arthur you had one job!” She accused him, and he apologetically shrugged, before asking something that was the last required move to checkmate me.

“Did he see her?”

_Fuck._

So it was true. In two months. When he was going to tell me? Was he going to tell me? Was I worth that explanation? I wasn’t even hurt. I was just numb. The world was feeling more like a lucid hallucination. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I—

“Lucas? Are you Okay?”

“I just… I’m going to our room.” I excused myself, no longer trusting myself to be in their company. I felt stupid, ridiculed. _They knew_. Both of them. Arthur was my friend, and he still lied to me.

I don’t recall how I managed to get to our room but I do remember going to bed straight after, my head filled with every single thing he ever said to me. Everything I told him, everything I told my friends about him.

_I like you to be with me. Only me_

_I have to meet some people before we’re leaving the city_

_Somethings better stay unsolved_

_because of you I’d never go back in time in the first place_

_I hope tomorrow never comes_

_Somethings better stay unsolved_

_I could build that baby universe right here, right now…_

_today I have to meet someone in the town near-by. We probably even spend the night_

_he’s treating you nicely, hm? Yes, Yann, very much. He’s different from everyone_

_Somethings better stay unsolved_

I just wanted to fall asleep. So that I didn’t have to think about it anymore. From outside I heard the fireworks, and the applause just an hour later. I heard my phone ringing but I didn't bother picking it up. 

_What a fool I was_.


	15. You’re that boy on the canvas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to write very detailed angst and sorrow but I realized there is nothing pretty about being lied to by the person you love-- even if it was done with a rational reason. Therefore I didn't try to be too meticulous, I'm sure we all know the heartbreak feeling. This story is supposed to be fun and all, so if you are a fan of heavy angst, apologies :)  
> P.S. We skipped another 5 weeks here again, Enjoy XO

**February 6th , Thursday, 10:32**

I was being too emotional. I was completely aware. The problem wasn’t the lack of acknowledgement; it was the fact that I refused to set myself free.

“Sally, will you change the music, please?” I asked my new co-worker. She gave me a puzzled glance, conspicuously wondering how come I finally talked to her, maybe how I knew her name or perhaps the fact that I had commented on music. She had a good taste; It was better than Bianchi’s soft jazz collection that usually had me feeling sleepy in the most random hours.

“Uh…Sure,” She didn’t question why, for which I was grateful. “I just switch up to radio,”

“Thanks.”

The local station was hosting a talk show about climate change, with people discussing the latest discoveries. I could get used to that. I was getting used to listening to news perfectly. It was one of the only things that didn’t make me feel miserable nowadays--- _no no no_ , we had already gone through this with Emma and Manon couple of hundred times. No more sorrowful thoughts. Even Arthur apologized to me. He was a gentleman despite me being a complete prick to him in the few days after the trip. He was so supportive he even took my resignation letter to Saetre. Thankfully as the office manager her signature was all I needed to leave the company.

Then it was going to back square one, a lonely boy faces a new world, vol.2.

I needed a job again, I couldn’t just lay around Emma’s apartment all day. Emma herself with only a month until her delivery was working. Even Manon who had agreed to stay for a while was working from home. I couldn’t be a lost cause here.

I was still unsuccessful in finding a full-time job with my desired pay. I worked two part-time jobs. Turned out the old Bianchi guy wasn’t joking when he told me I could work in his shop the first time we met. Thanks to Emma I spent the morning with the fastidious old man. My other job was a very generous help from Nick. He introduced me to one of his friends with a diner and well, I didn’t have too many options to play picky.

Look how lucky Emma was. Nick and Bianchi as her friends were so benevolent. What had I gotten, some lying-ass selfish heartless cheater bastard who had fucked me for four months while hiding a fucking ring in his drawer all the time. It wasn’t my fault, well not _directly_. I always had the tendency to go after assholes. I should have stopped chasing him after that one time he gave me a hand job in his office. Had I been in my right mind, I would not have wanked that night, I would have written a resignation letter.

Still, whatever that happened, had happened. I couldn’t just travel back in time and convince the old me to stay away from him. I know myself, I wouldn’t listen to anyone when it came to him, not even future me. However, the truth was I didn’t even want to erase those memories. After all insomniac nights I experienced, all the self-loathings I sucked up, all the midnight sobbing in my bedroom, the truth was If Eliott showed up at my door right now and told me he was sorry, I would still accept it, without hesitation.

Maybe it was called being pathetic. Maybe it was called lacking self-respect. I didn’t care in what term one uses to describe me. I would still accept his apology. The worst part was that I was deprived of even seeing him after that playful kiss we shared in the lobby. ‘ _see you tonight’_ was his last sentence to me. That tonight never came. Not that day, not the days that followed, not the five weeks after.

About two weeks after quitting I had an E-mail informing me I had 30 grand plus my last salary deposited into my bank account. Which left me with so many fears. This was America, what if cops showed up at my doors and accused me of embezzlement or fraud? I had to pause my crying game for a few hours and show up to the bank. I still remember the face of the poor lady behind the counter as I sat in front of her with hoarse voice and puffy red eyes, telling her there must be a mistake with this money.

“Oh dear, are you alright, sir?” She had asked me the second I was finished, making me wonder if she had even understood what I’d said. So I repeated the exact same request, adding a rigid please at the end of it for emphasis. In the end she did give up, telling me it was from an account owned by our own company but the person who did the depositing was named ‘Adrian Maxwell’.

In spite of me imploring her to give me a way to contact him, she insisted the client’s numbers were confidential. In the end after minutes of consistent insisting he told her over the phone that there hasn’t been any mistake and if I was interested in learning more, she was allowed to give me his number.

I walked the length of the three long avenues with a piece of sticker note in my fist with that guy’s number. I weighed my options, deciding to call or not to call. I didn’t take the bus, just walked until I was at my doorstep. It all seemed alien there. I did take a thorough look around the street, the snow-covered sidewalk and the lilting streetlamp near the staircase. Two weeks before I was right under its bent body, kissing Eliott thinking I had the entire world right beneath my feet. Now I was here with two bottles of beer I had bought from a supermarket wishing earth would open up and swallow me whole.

Gosh I had been so happy, so content.

I didn’t stop the tears at bay. I sat there on the frozen stairs at the door and stared at the few digits before making a call with trembling hands. He answered after few beeps, somewhere obviously crowded with the loud music. “Adrian Maxwell, can I help?”

I swallow, trying hard not to sound as pathetically drown in tears as I had been the last few days. “Hello. This is Lucas Lallement. There seems to be some mistake with you payi—“

“Oh. Yes. Good evening Mr. Lallement. I hope it’s evening there.” He chuckled. I didn’t. “Listen, I’m-I’m in Rio. This is my holiday. We should discuss this face to face. I have my assistant calling you the second I’m back in the country.”

“But this is a lot of money. Is it even mine? I don’t mind to discuss it over the—“

“Listen, I only get two weeks off in the entire year. I shouldn’t even take calls; my daughter will kill me. So, after the holidays, OK?”

He hanged up then. I tried calling him again few times but he had tuned off his phone.

In the few days that followed, I pretty much experienced a depersonalization period. I was aware of my surroundings, I took the customer’s orders in Dave’s diner, I wished people a great day in Bianchi’s shop, wondering how all of them even found that hidden door behind a great mall in the first place. I still washed the dishes on the days I was supposed to, I did some of my laundry, I went grocery shopping two times with Manon. I was completely aware I was doing those activities but I felt disconnected; maybe a restless robot was living instead of me. My friends didn’t dare mention Eliott; Arthur did once and I ignored him so blatantly he didn’t anymore. Soon the awkward silence when I entered the room turned into small talks about the weather and pretty soon it all went back to normal.

I didn’t expect to break after that, but one day I did. Nick was downstairs cooking some cupcakes with Manon. They seemed so close. I noticed the little touches where their arms accidentally brushed and the way his eyes actually lit up when she laughed. I was not envying her; she was my friend. However, there was a radical murmur in the back of my mind screaming at me ‘this could have been yours’ and it did sting. Because it was right. Nick was outright the nicest man I had met, the most potential boyfriend. He was a good man. He had asked me out and refused me when I kissed him that one time because he was concerned about me. What had I done in return? I let my boss fuck my brains out for the thrill of it all.

I excused myself from their presence, retreated to my room, closed the door and tried to muffle my sobs with pillows and loud music. If any of them heard anything, they didn’t show.

 _‘Don’t go around calling it a date if he isn’t’_ Arthur had been correct. He never called our time together a date. He never called me, he didn’t even text me after that trip. It was like he’d thrown me out. It was Mr. Alaoui who set a day for me to come collect my stuff. It was the worst day of my life. My eyes were still red and swollen when I got there. Nobody spared me a single extra look and I realized I had been too busy screwing my engaged boss for the last four months I didn’t even make one friend in the office.

Noora was there to help me. I didn’t accept hers. I just asked her one thing before getting in that damned elevator for the final time, the place that started it all. “Did he know?”

“What?”

“Arthur. Did he know Eliott was— _engaged_?” my voice shook at that word. God I was so piteous.

For a second I thought she might want to lecture me about friendship and forgiveness, I was embracing myself to actually tell her to fuck off if she did but she relinquished the idea in the last minute. “I told him the same day I told you. I didn’t want him to know, he was your friend. I begged him no to inform you but I knew he would eventually do it. We almost broke up because of it.”

“Thanks.” I murmured, for the last time taking my fill from the front of Eliott’s door. It was locked. So he was still hiding behind the curtains, waiting for the perfect act to show up. Then again, it was probably a wise choice; what did we have to say to each other? Maybe he just didn’t require extra drama in his life.

As the elevator’s doors closed my eyes fluttered shut with my last willpower not to spill more tears. I thought to myself enough. Enough now.

And weeks later there I was. The florescent lamps of Bianchi’s store were flickering in perfect rhythm with each step Sally took. I stared at them transfixed, wondering how I’d never noticed it before.

*****

**Friday 22:02**

“This is stupid. Since when do we watch CNN?” Emma groaned, taking a full bite of the last remnants of sushi. Arthur gave her a cutting sneer because he had been so close to placing those sushis in his plate.

“Since I’m staying. Plus, would it be so terrible if you actually knew what was going on in the world?” Manon questioned them, taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“Yes because it gives us major depressive symptoms. World’s a fucked place, love.” Arthur pinpointed, snitching the final pickle before Emma could take it and wiggled his eyebrows at her in a boasting expression. Emma gave her the finger.

“We watch celebrity news. Isn’t as crucial as stock market but at least we can gossip about it.” Emma declared with a little bit of shame.

“Sorry guys, ET after this I promise.” Manon shrugged, getting comfortable next to me on the couch. She gave me a sympathetic look. I immediately turned my head to avoid her. I knew her; she was different from Arthur and Emma. Those two would take ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ much more seriously than her. That long sophisticating lecture about Eliott was going to eventually creep its way in our conversation. It was a miracle it already hadn’t.

Two minutes later and Emma was going to bed, Arthur was getting dressed to leave. He didn’t specifically state where to but it wasn’t difficult to guess with him in that suit and tie. He was aware of Saetre and I’s complicated relations, especially after the New year’s eve. Despite me appreciating his respect, it made me feel more pitiful. _Look at that poor boy, got played because of his dumb ass and now he’s blaming others_

Then it was only Manon and I. She was taking notes from the fucking _news,_ looking so badass with her glasses on. Had I looked half that serious Eliott might have respected me. Repeating the events and how I had been behaving in the office, I had officially begged for it. Everything I did, how I talked to him, the way I looked at him, how I dressed, how I even did my job was just a big poster of ‘fuck me’.

“Stop.” She suddenly said. “Just stop.”

“I’m not doing anything.” I sounded so hoarse. I hadn’t even cried that much that day. There were just a few tears after I saw someone with a trench coat order some black espresso in the diner. It was a reflex now; seeing anything that reminded me of him either had me in tears or rage in seconds.

“That’s the point. You’re not doing anything. You’re just sitting there like a passive doll letting these feelings torment you.”

“What do you have me do, turning into Anabelle?”

“Have you even texted him since you came back?” She asked me, placing her notes on the floor to give the piercing gaze. I averted my eyes which she took as a victory. “You haven’t, have you? Lucas, you weren’t the only person in this relationship, why should you deal with all the pain alone?”

“It wasn’t a relationship and I’m not in pain.” I lied, obviously not even a good one, judging from her nonchalant eye-roll.

“ _Please,_ I lived with you for three years. I haven’t even seen you this depressed since Miss Pastels died.” She had a point, Mika’s cat dying had me crying like a toddler for three days straight, though I never told anyone that. It was the little secret between the three of us when we shared one apartment. “Call him. I don’t know what he did but at some point silent treatment will ruin your own mental health, too. Do it for yourself.”

“I can’t.” I wrapped my arms around myself. I was shielding myself, not from her but from the truth in her words.

“Of course you can. I—“

“Manon, I shouldn’t. It’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” She frowned. “Why is it wrong?”

“Because If I do call him, a congratulation on his wedding will be in order.” She paused, I mean entirely paused. Even her thinking process did; whatever sanctimonious advice she was about to give died in her throat. But me, boy I felt so relived after saying that. _It was his fault!_ “That son of a bitch doesn’t miss me. Let’s just stop lying to each other, fine? We are not expert liars like him. There Is no fucking pain for him, Manon. Why would there be?”

“Oh my god.” She gasped, dramatically placing his palm over her gaping mouth. “I-I-didn’t know.”

“Nor did I.” I felt my voice break with that confession. It wasn’t my fault. It was his. I realized I should stop blaming myself for how I felt about him, anyone in my position would feel the same. It was OK. “And all I want is to forget it.”

“I get it. It’s OK,” Manon reassured me, as if she was able to read my mind. She reached forward, squeezing my arms softly, a solicitous genuine smile on her face. And I craved a simple touch so much I let myself get pulled into a hug when she wrapped her arms around me. For the first time in the last five month I felt like I returned to my body.

*****

**Sunday 10:34**

Adrian Maxwell was four minutes late to our meeting. His assistant called me last night; asking me if I was free. It was Sunday; I had taken some mercy on myself to at least take one day a week off. We decided to meet in a coffee shop near his office. I got there ten minutes early, ordering some hot chocolate and taking sip by sip in the slowest pace physically possible, dragging it out so I look elegant.

In the mean time I could get some information on him: Finance and family lawyer, unbelievably successful, rich as fuck, divorced and influential. But he wasn’t our company’s lawyer. I knew the lawyer, I had set few meetings with her and Eliott and even saw her on few occasions.

I was beginning to suspect if he’d ever show up when someone in black suit stopped by my desk, “Mr. Lallement?” He asked, emitting a strong scent of tobacco before his arrival. I nodded in answer, watching as he immediately called for the waiter to order some black Turkish coffee. He took a seat in front of me. He was too enthusiastic for someone who only got two weeks a year for holidays. Maybe he liked his job, who knows.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” He said, rubbing his hands together to fight the irresistible cold before opening his briefcase to take out some paper. “I couldn’t find a place to park my car,”

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to smile despite myself. He seemed like a kind man with his deep smile lines and the tiny glint of light in his eyes.

“Great. I have to be back in the forum in thirty minutes so let’s get into it.” He flipped though some folders before choosing two and splaying the sheets inside them on the table.

“I- I don’t understand.” I said. “I don’t know you. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You will quite soon, don’t worry.” He slid a paper to me. I gingerly gripped its edge, bending down to see what was written all over it. It was a copy of the same contract I signed for Noora Saetre. “You remember this, right?”

I nodded. “But I thought it was only for confidentiality. There was no mention of money.”

“Not specifically. Here, the fourth paragraph,” He pointed to it, reading the last few words of third line “ _With complete apprehension of each other’s status_ ,” then his nimble fingers were on the last line. “ _See section 6 from guideline about privacy for further info_ ,” Then he presented another paper, clearly torn from a text book. “This is section six. Your condition with Mr. Demaury is categorized as taking advantage sexually and misuse of power.”

What. “Are you his lawyer?” Was all I asked.

“No. no. I’m _your_ lawyer, well, used to be… not directly though.” He said that like it was the most obvious thing. “Otherwise why would I defend you?”

“I don’t have a lawyer.” I defended myself, suddenly more confused than ever. “Am I paying you? What do you mean indirectly?”

“I am the office lawyer. Miss Saetre has specifically hired me for situations like yours. I thought she discussed it with you. Apparently she hasn’t. Look, Lucas, you are not the first person to sleep with one of the married or engaged managers there. She usually looks after this kind of disaster with the confidentiality contracts to ensure the privacy of our employees in case someone is threatened or sexually abused. However, with Young Mr. Demaury’s condition, I realized you could be taken advantage of. I tried to find a way for you to leave this mess at least not financially damaged. Look at this as an attempt to make-up for the … emotional damage.”

“I wasn’t taken advantage of or abused. It was consensual.” 

“I know but, this is to ensure you will not discuss this with anybody—“

“I wouldn’t tell anyone about what happened between us. And I didn’t do it for money. I loved him.”

“But this money is your right. Take it as a rectification, the little price for the honesty you were deprived of.”

“I’m not some gold-digging leech. I don’t want it.”

He paused, desperately biting his lips before dramatically sighing. “He’d have wanted you to have it.”

What? Did Eliott talk to him about me? If I was about to leave last minute I changed my opinion, clutching at the bottom of my jacket. “Did he tell you this?” Maxwell’s coffee arrived just then, giving me some more time to rearrange the new discoveries. Why did he want me to have all that money? I suppose my eyes revealed my inner conflicts before any words could leave me. I sat there before him, legs bouncing, taking glances from the outside every other second after the mention of his name. It wasn’t my fault, he had a history with dramatic entrances and appearing out of nowhere. “Did Eliott tell you that?”

Maxwell nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s about your mother. He was aware how difficult it is for you to pay for your mother’s personal full-time nurse and her medication. This would be sufficient for some time until you find another stable job with somewhat a compatible income. He just wants to make sure you won’t be trouble until after he’s married.”

No no no. Those were absolutely not his words. He may not have loved me the way I loved him, but pity money? Treating me like a cheap whore, what would he expect me to do, run to his apartment and scream my lungs at him for lying to me, calling his wife and kiss and tell? Was that what I was to him? I could actually feel the pain that hit me in the gut, it was like one of those childhood fevers that came out of nowhere, strong and deep.

“No.” My voice was so weak. “He didn’t say that.”

“Son. His wedding is in two weeks. His fiancé is a major shareholder, you’re a smart kid; do the math. It won’t be a year until he’s the CEO. Thirty grand, fifty, it doesn’t mean anything to him.”

_You don’t mean anything to him._

“But I don’t want it. He didn’t take any advantage of me.“

“You don’t have to use it. Give it to some charity, save it for later. If you really don’t want it, we can arrange a few more meetings and unfortunately since you no longer are a part of our board you may have to hire a lawyer separately. So should I-“ I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. From the corner of my eyes I caught a side of a tall man in a similar grey coat Eliott loved so dearly, standing right next to the pharmacy on the other side of the avenue. His back was to us, but that fluffy hair- It couldn’t be, could it?

“I-I have to go- I’m sorry—“ I grabbed my gloves and fleeted away, putting a ten dollar bill on the table. The last thing I wanted was more pity money.

“So what’ll it be? Do you keep it?”

I was too much in hurry that I yelled a ‘yes’ before closing the coffee shop’s door behind me. If I wanted to alter my decision later, I could easily just give him a call. For now, I had to chase someone. Eliott was no longer standing where I saw him first when I got there. I took in the surrounding, spinning around myself until I saw him. _Fuck the pity money, fuck the leech he thought I was, I just had to see him, I had to talk to him._ My mind screamed at me.

“Eliott!” I called out to him when I spotted him right next to a hotel entrance. “Wait!”

He didn’t. I was so grateful that minute for taking the little P.E I took in high school and the fact I walked too often instead of using public transportation in a vain attempt to save money. I ran and ran after him, some people on the side walk giving me weird looks. But I was so high on adrenaline those seconds I barely registered I was risking my life with running on cold ice. In the end I could reach him. He noticed me panting loudly behind him, turning around to see who it was almost passing out from apnea behind him and—

“Are you OK?” He wasn’t Eliott. He was just a stranger, another stranger face I could pass by every day.

“Sorry I- I thought you were someone else.” _I wish you were someone else._

He gave me a half-smile before continuing with his path.

_Stupid boy._

I didn’t even care I was in public then, the fucking tears were past the point of asking my permission before floating my cheeks. The best I could do was not letting out ugly moans and cries and just reduce my feelings to harmless tears. I walked sluggishly to the closest bus stop, took the first bus to the Scarsdale and closed my eyes, receiving flashbacks from the bitter memories that were once sweet moments.

*****

**Sunday 11:29**

I knocked on the door few times after ringing the bell more than four times. I knew he didn’t use this apartment much except the times we spent here together but I tried to remain optimistic. He still had his arts here, he must return to them every once in a while. I knocked one more time before a guy opened the door on me. He was clearly high on something, his eyes dazed and her raggedy clothes fit for someone with much more body mass than him. “Heeey,” He said sing-a-songly, leaning on the door and examining me. “You knock on this poor door few more times it’ll end up collapsing. Relax, geez!”

What the hell. Eliott’s apartment was on the second floor, so maybe this was his downstairs neighbor, his hippie clothes along with the smell of cannabis he was radiating matched perfectly with the peace signs and opium arts on the staircase walls. “What can I do for you man?”

“I’m looking for Eliott.”

“Eliott? Who the fuck is that?” He scratched his forehead. “Is that the- ah… the bondage guy?” he moved his hands to demonstrate what he meant. In any other situation I might have found this funny but right now I was just desperate.

“No. He lives upstairs.”

He narrowed his eyes before suddenly perking up. “Oh-That old soul, disaster artist?” I nodded. “Are you sure he wasn’t into bondage because he looked like he was, no shame though.”

“Nate, who is it?” A woman emerged from behind him, dressed in the same shirt as the man with no pants on. Wasn’t she cold? “Who are you?”

“He’s looking for Eliott. The Phantom from upstairs,” They shared a grin, maybe it was in inside joke. I didn’t have time for it. After a month I had finally gained the courage to go up to him and talk to him in person. Arthur said he hadn’t been to company since the holidays, and I didn’t know the address to his other apartment. This was my only chance.

“Please, do you know where he is?” I begged inquisitively, eyes locked on them as though they were the answer to all my questions.

“Hon he sold the place. I told Nate from the start he was too posh for this building.” She shrugged, clicking her heels.

 _He sold the place?_ Surely this had to be a joke. What wrong had I ever done to him that he was closing all gates of communication on me? I did not deserve to be despised so much after showing him nothing but honesty and vulnerability. “When?”

“Two weeks ago.” The guy replied.

“Wait. I know you!” The woman squealed like she’d seen the resurrected Messiah. “You’re that boy on the canvas— what was it Nate, come on!”

The man—Nate only stared at her, totally lost. That made the two of us. The woman groaned in frustration before regarding me again, lost at how to interpret her mind. “He’s obviously the boy in the painting!”

“Oh shit! The muse guy!” He gasped, this time fully letting his eyes roam over me.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wait a sec,” She said, disappearing inside. Nate just stood there, waving at me in an awkward manner. I stood quietly, repeating her words. _The muse guy, the boy in the painting._ On one hand I was in a muddled state of mind, bewildered and overwhelmed with the amount of new information thrown at me, on the other hand I felt like I was in a fever dream. Was any of this even real? Was I still asleep in the bus? I pinched myself, imagining Eliott suddenly running down the stairs and staring at me. What would he do? Apologize? Explain himself? Run back up and lock the door? _Hon_ _he sold the place._ Neither then. He’d already run away from me.

“Here!” The girl appeared again, this time a medium sized canvas tucked under her arm. “It’s you!” She presented the painting at me. And it _was_ me; in a pair of Eliott’s pajamas, on his bed, reading one of his books. The painting was neat, yet evidently drawn in a hurry. I did recall that day; I was complaining to him about how he should try some fictional short stories instead of the long old novels he was very fond of. He was sitting at the end of the bed, doodling something. I didn’t get to see what it was for he quickly finished it and hid it somewhere.

“It’s me.” I repeated, touching the surface of it. _They’re old. It’s fine to touch_ Eliott’s voice whispered into my head. This one wasn’t very old. When I touched it there was a trace of oil lingering on my fingertip.

“This was his last work. He forgot it I guess. It was one of those crazy nights of his.” The girl said.

“Crazy nights?”

“Yeah you know, the loud music and hours and hours and hours of painting. Dude looked fucking possessed!” Nate scoffed. “He was high as fuck man! And that should count as something, you know? coming from me.” The girl elbowed him but he just chuckled. “What? That night the poor guy was listening to Pink Floyd, I was sure it’s one of those nights. That’s what progressive does to your brain—it’s like untouchable fentanyl. And guess what? I was right! In the morning _bang_! The music stopped out of nowhere and the house was empty. Some of his sketches were scattered in the staircase, this was the only canvas. You know it all makes sense now. How the hell did you dump him though? You were lucky he didn’t overdose-ouch! Jen, stop hitting me!”

The girl shoved him slightly. “We tried calling your guy. He didn’t answer. We kept this, because he was very possessive of his work. But it _is_ your face here. So- take it. It’s not like our apartment doesn’t have enough stuff from underrated artists Nate thinks will be the next _Dali_.” Nate dismissively mimicked her before going back inside. She wrapped the painting in a piece of newspaper on the stairs and gave it to me. She also gave me her number incase Eliott showed up to take the little furniture he’d left, even asked me If I wanted to have some coffee or a look around. I thanked her, telling her there was no use now with Eliott gone. There wasn’t much I could look at either; the staircase was just like the one in my own apartment.

I walked away from the little apartment in dismay, my own painting finally with me. He didn’t forget it. He simply didn’t want it anymore.

This was the last place I could find him, the last anchor and he had so mercilessly cut its ties.

 _Have you even texted him since you came back_ Manon had asked me _You haven’t, have you?_

And my how could my stupid lie sound so believable to her?

I timidly opened my sent messages and there it was, 27 sent messages and missed calls without a single reply.

_Dec 31-23:03 Eliott Where are you? Do you have time?_

_*Jan 1- 06:08 Can I call you?_

_*Jan 1-09:00 we need to talk_

_*Jan 1-13:22 We’re at the airport, aren’t you coming?_

_*Jan 2-00:04 Eliott?_

_*Jan 2-22:17 Are you OK?_

_*Jan 3-10:56 Baby please pick up your phone_

_*Jan 5-21:43 We don’t have to talk about it. Just let me hear your voice._

_*Jan 8-14:04 Eliott I quit today. Arthur says you’re not going to work. Just tell me you’re safe._

_*Jan 9-18:18 Fuck you, you son of a bitch! If anyone here should ignore someone, It’s me!_

_*Jan 13-23:09 Bqby plwase answe ypre pvone_

_*Jan 13-23:10 I mkss ypu_

_*Jan 13-23:10 You heartllles basyrad_

_*Jan 13-23:19 Hello, I don’t know who is this but this guy’s drunk and won’t leave. You’re his last called number. Would you come pick him up?_

_*Jan 15-12:25 Did you give me that money? WTF?_

That was last text to him, sent two weeks ago. I sighed as I typed him.

_*Feb 9-11:45 I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye._

Enough. Enough now.


	16. Say that again

**Monday 17:35**

“It will be 12.99” I repeated for the third time. The old man however, even after nodding, asked _again._

“How much?” I was seriously going to lose my mind if I had to repeat that number again. I forced a fake smile at him before excusing myself, telling him I’ll be back quickly. I doubted he’d remember that if he couldn’t deal with four digits, that two of which were even similar.

I went back behind the counter, sighing in exasperation as I waited for Emma. She was supposed to come by for some quick cheesecakes, she could get there any minute. I refilled the coffee pot and took orders from the new wave of customers that were coming in. It started to get crowded again around these times.

I found myself staring at the door awaiting someone other than Emma; A middle aged guy that occasionally showed up around six p.m. He was generous man with steel grey eyes and fluffy brown-grey hair who sported suits flawlessly. If I was distant enough to descry him from afar, I could mistake him with a certain someone. Me staring at him hadn’t gone unnoticed; the two other girls who worked the same shift giggled whenever he stopped by to order some coffee or pancakes.

In the end I realized I couldn’t hate Eliott Demaury even if I did dislike many of his actions. The pain in the gut turned into a twisting mix of bittersweet murmurs whenever I thought of him and I even found myself smiling when his look-alike talked to me. It was an innocent sense of deja-vu, it didn’t hurt anyone.

“Hey, where can I get some decent coffee around here?” A familiar voice called out to me. And yes, there was my girl, radiating her same old mischief.

“You’ve come to the right place,” I smiled at her, pouring her some from the fresh pot. She drank it all in one go. She rubbed her eyes with her middle finger and thumb and requested for a second cup. “Jee, girl, what’s gotten into you?”

“Alex,” She paused. “Well, not literally.” We both chuckled.

“Alex? How come after all this time?”

“I don’t know. He’d figured I’m pregnant and wants to know if he’s the father.”

I had to laugh at that, pouring myself a glass as well. “No wonder he never the brightest when it came to biology! How long does he think a pregnancy lasts, two years?” When Emma didn’t say anything expect scrunching her face and tilting it to the side it all made sense to me. “No, fuck! when?”

“June. It was a one-time thing if it makes it any better.”

“Actually It doesn’t make it any better,”

“Whatever. It’s not him.”

I knew this wasn’t at all my place to ask her who the father was. She always respected me when I refused to share certain information. And I had to suppress the voice of my utmost curiosity every time I was close to asking her who the father was. Then she gave me this look, a dare, ‘ _go on’_ it was saying.

“Um… then who is?”

“I don’t know. Hey, don’t give me that look! I honestly have no idea; I took the sperm from a bank.”

 _Oh._ So that was why she never got bothered with Arthur joking about how anyone could be the father. But why, though? “But why?”

“Wanted to start my own family. I was raised by a single mom and no offence I had a healthier home with her than most of you did with two parents. I figured I could do the same. I hope I can, I mean. ”

I reached forward to hold her hand, squeezing it in my hold as I beamed at her. “Wow. You’re so brave, seriously.”

She shrugged, her cheeks flushing slightly. She was about to say something when the giggling started. Oh here we go again. I glared at the girls, challenging them to continue with their bullshit one more time. But before I could get the chance, the guy in suit was asking for his usual Americano. Pretty much like every day he gave me extra tip, wished me good day with a warm smile before he then drank in silence. I still found my eyes darting to him even as I walked back to where Emma was sitting. She was giving me a puzzled look. “Jesus for a second I thought he was your guy.”

I shrugged, stealing my gaze from her. “Me, too.”

Her look was sympathetic but she knew I hated pity, so she quickly changed the subject. “I have to tell you something. This morning-“

“Lucas! Table12!” Dave called for me. I excused myself from Emma’s presence, going to the table near the window. The young couple were quick to choose and thankfully I was back to my friend again. She was biting her lower lip, lost in the thought. Nevertheless, she quickly addressed me.

“Sorry about that.” I apologized.

“Yeah I get it. It’s that I just got into the cookery school. The one I told you about it.”

“Wow! Congrats!” This time I actually gave her a hug which she reciprocated kindly. “Holy shit! I’m so proud of you! When did you find out?”

“This morning. Look, I know this is really fucked up but—Pfff, It’s so embarrassing, forget it.”

I was startled, what was going on? The school she applied to was a great one, and to our advantage it was very close to our house, just about thirty minutes away. I rubbed her arms gently, genuinely concerned about her. “No, no. What is it? Tell me.”

“I-I didn’t really want to be asking you this but I’m going to apply for a mortgage in the spring. I’ve decided to buy a house in Brooklyn. I can’t have too much debts if I want to get it though, otherwise my request will be listed as unqualified. I was wondering if you could lend me some money? I’m not asking for much; I know it hasn’t been too easy for you, either. Even a couple of thousands could really help me here—fuck it sounded much better when I was reviewing it in my brain. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—“

“Hey hey hey,” I said, suddenly recalling the shitload amount of money in my bank account. I wasn’t going to touch a single cent of it. I had priorly decided to completely forget its existence until tax on tax make it vanish. But this was the perfect opportunity! Emma had been nothing but extremely indulgent to me and this was my best chance to make it up to her. “Actually I do have loads of money. Don’t ask how, but count on me.”

“Wow thanks!” She exhaled with relief, pulling me into a tight hug.

*****

**Wednesday 19:06**

“Nice to meet you too, you must be Manon, I’ve heard great things!” Saetre was smiling—actually smiling, her cheeks were tugging and dimpling with the force of it but it all seemed so natural. Arthur also had a hand around her waist, the very picture of an in-love couple. It was her first time coming to our apartment. Arthur had decided it was finally the time for us to meet her. She was only unfamiliar with Manon. Wow. It must have been _really_ difficult to guess who was the new face and connect it to the new name.

“Me, too.” Manon exuberantly pulled her into a half hug. Arthur seemed to be on the moon with this new show of affection. _‘Look at my girlfriend already besties with my friends!’_

There was an awkward silent when my eyes and hers connected but I decided to act appropriately, solely for the sake of Arthur. “Hello,” I smiled at her, she seemed to take the hint quite swiftly, nodding and holding my offered hand in a tight grip.

“Hello Lucas.”

And believe it or not, I actually began to enjoy her company as the day went by. She was quite a contrast with what she displayed in the workplace. There I rarely saw her compliment anyone but now, she was charming and approachable, even making jokes at the table. Her and Manon were bonding rapidly, already sharing looks with hinting sarcasm. At least someone in the room had found a decent match from that office.

The night was going perfect so far until She asked about the dinner _‘Who made this fish, it tastes heavenly!’_ And Emma shrugged, feigning a humble ‘me’, but she was blushing proudly. Then the conversation shifted to her cookery school, and soon, they were talking about student loans. “Lucas and Manon really helped me here. I can never be grateful enough!” Emma stated, beaming at us.

“But you said it’s 10 thousand per semester?”

“Borrowed from Lulu. Who would’ve known he could make such a great sugar dada?” Arthur answered instead of her, making us all chuckle. Saetre smiled too, but it was a fake one. Nothing like the beautiful one she had on her earlier that day.

“Is that so?” Was all she said.

*****

**Friday 21:13**

I was growing to hate Valentine’s day. Most years I was really neutral when it came to it but this year, well, you give me a pass on that. Even Eliott’s middle-age look-a-like had bought a banquet of flowers that he tucked close to himself. Honestly if someone complained about how millennials choose to be single bluh bluh I would just tell them to piss off. My thumb was aching from liking tens of photos on Instagram. It was like pouring salt on my fresh scar, in the end I had to close the app and turn off the notifications all together.

I pushed my hands into my pockets once I stepped out of the bus. It was still cold and I was certain one of these nights I’ll just end up freezing on the way home, create a modern adaption _of little match girl_ or something.

I was eating a chocolate bar as I approached the house. There was someone there, pacing about the stairs and looking very impatient. Once I was close enough I could see it was Saetre, desperately looking at me. Maybe she was just waiting for Arthur. After all it was Valentine’s day and tomorrow was Saturday. I was about to ignore her but she called out for _me._ “Lucas do you have a minute?”

“Um..” Me? What could she possibly want to discuss with me? I was hesitant but after all, we once worked together. “Now?”

“I-I should tell you something. But- not here.” She tilted her head, eyes pointing to her car. “It’s important.”

*****

**Friday 21:20**

We were driving, to where I didn’t know and so far she hadn’t said anything. I could see she was distressed, chewing her lower lip in-between her teeth as we drove away. Right when I was finally about to ask her what’s going on she parked the car in the side of the street, near a polish bar I had gone to about a week ago. She sighed, rolling the window down a little to allow the moistened heat leave the car. “Alright. I’m going to be concise about this. Where did you get all that money?”

Well that was ignorant of her to ask me questions she already knew the answer to. “Why does it matter?”

“Please work with me on this. I messed up, big time…shit,” Her voice was vulnerable as she reached for the glove box, taking out a phone with a broken screen and tossing it to me. I gave her a questioning glance. “Here. It’s Eliott’s.”

 _What the fuck?_ With shaking fingers, I picked it up, gaping at the damaged device. It didn’t have its usual grey cover with the black glitters, but it was the same model. I pressed the turn-on button. More than half the screen was black but I could stills see the notifications above the screen:

_*Lucas: Fine I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye (+15 more unread messages)_

My fingers froze on the screen. I tried to pinch myself, to end this hallucination or dream or the beginning of a nightmare but to my dismay, I was very much awake. Why did Saetre have his phone? For what reason, specifically? “Why do you have this? Did you—did you read my messages this whole time?”

“No- I couldn’t turn it on, it was unbelievably wrecked. It must have been a miracle or something, but the other day I dropped it on the floor, and for some reason I had half a screen. Listen, it doesn’t matter. Just tell me where did you get that money?” She was earnestly concerned. It was not the faux pity voice I had heard in the past couple of weeks. But I had questions too. Now that I knew he hadn’t ignored me, I was scared for his health. Where was he? Was he alright? Why was his phone broken? “Please,” She insisted again.

“It was the money the company gave me,”

“We didn’t give you any money other than your salary.”

“No, it was from someone called Maxwell—“

“That son of a bitch!” She hit the gas, taking off with a violent sound as we once again got in the road. “What did he tell you? Please, the more details the better.”

“Something about the misuse of power. He said it was my right to have this money and that Eliott wanted me to have it.”

To that she snickered bitterly, a grimace creeping onto her features. “And you believed him? Some dude you never met before?”

“He said he works for the company!”

“Well, maybe you should have considered consulting this with someone whom you actually knew worked in the office? Like, I don’t know, Arthur or me?” she was so aggrieved, talking in riddles with an unease force to her words. She was trying so hard no tot call me an idiot. “Fuck this was not the conversation I thought we’d have.”

“Do you know where he is?” I pleaded anyways. “Why did he suddenly disappeared?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get me to him?”

“He’s not in his most stable self now. Plus, I don’t think he wants to see you now.”

“What did I ever do to him? You were there all along, he lied to me about being engaged. How would you feel if someone did the same to you?”

“As _if_ I let anyone dare do that to me. You are the most emotionally masochist person I’ve ever seen. You are probably even romanticizing this conversation.” She pinpointed ruefully, which by the way, was rude. Maybe true—maybe—but still rude. “But I’m going to take you to his hotel. You’re going to have a long-ass night ahead of you.”

And me, ever the hopeless romantic couldn’t find it in myself to repudiate her offer. Instead I checked my reflection in the mirror, getting a glimpse at myself. So I wasn’t in my best state, but she also said he wasn’t his most stable self. But what did that even mean? His neighbors had the similar claim ‘ _It was one of those crazy nights of his’_

“Miss Saetre—”

“Noora.” She corrected me. Noora, Right.

“Noora, if it wasn’t Eliott who payed me that money then who was?”

She pensively bit her bottom lip, struggling with words. “It’s complicated. Did you touch any of it?”

“Well we used it for Emma’s application. But not all, only 10 thousand.”

“Jesus,” She grumbled, letting go of the wheel with one of her hands to rub at her temple. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“Will you tell me what’s going on, _please?_ ” That sounded more like an order, and if she noticed she didn’t take offence in it. She considered my words, taking few glances at the street signs and one at the clock.

“You were right. I don’t usually ask for people’s signature because they fuck someone. It’s not even my business. I only ask those who mess around with Eliott to do it. It was—It’s not my place to say this but, he became utterly devastated after his mom died. And well- let me rephrase it this way. Few years ago, then there was this girl who was hired as a copy writer, suddenly showing up out of nowhere. She was incredibly attractive, better suited for a model than someone who spends an entire day behind a desk. Anyway, it was barely after five months after her arrival that she pressed charges against Eliott for sexual harassment at workplace. You can imagine how shocked we all were. I mean, sometimes he does lash out like hells broke loose but sexual abuse? That’s a whole different story. They were sleeping together, _that_ I knew wasn’t lie. In the end, odds had it she was going to win the case, for whatever reason, that’s for sure but I don’t think there was any abuse, at least not sexual. And the old Mr. Demaury silenced the entire affair with some money.” She paused. “Then it happened again. A year after that. The same story, this time with one of his neighbors. It wasn’t anything as harsh as she’d said but there was violence involved.” She sighed, slowing down a little. “Then, it happened again. Six months after that. He was in Paris, visiting his mother’s grave. He stayed longer than we anticipated, until we realized it was because he was doing time due to vandalism and well, sexual intimidation.”

“But that’s ludacris!” I defended him. Eliott was not the man to assault someone. I knew him; I was with him for months, he had never implied anything that would read such, had never touched me when I wasn’t willing. I had never felt safer than when I was with him. “They were lying.”

“Of course they were. But the best of lies are those which have some truth to support them. Eliott is—well, he’s had some struggles ever since his mother died, add that to his-his- older ones and what you get is unstable man with little value to his words. Who would have believed a person who refused to take his medication?”

_Crazy nights_

_a person who refused to take his medication?_

_Eliott who looked like he’d run in the snow_

“Is that why- he’s _sick?”_

“I didn’t tell you that.” She surreptitiously gave me a half-smile. “Let me finish. He’s under hell lot of pressure to be the CEO, and as you know. That rivalry with Munier isn’t necessarily helping either. Then it’s nearing his mom’s anniversary and with your arrival… We just didn’t want him getting into another scandal because of you but that money, I never gave it you. The old Demaury did, Maxwell is his lawyer. He told Eliott you were pressing charges too, and the fact that you did contact the lawyer and now removed some money from your back account, well---“

This was accelerating quickly “Why didn’t he call me? He could have just asked me!” _No, No, No,_ Eliott never told me one thing about any of those things. Then again, why would he? Was that how people always treated him, with disregard and insufficiency because of a condition he never wished to endure? How damaged must he have been from all those accusation and threats that he never even tried to explain it to me? We did have deep conversations; we did talk about our fears, our insecurities. Something was still missing in her words, some—

“He thought you were a fraud!” She exhaled loudly, with restrained anger. “That night there was an argument in his room, with his fiancé. She had learnt about you and there were these videos, of you and Arthur’s neighbor cooking, what was his name, Noah, Noel? She was telling him this was his last chance, and if he messed up one more time, there won’t be a miracle saving him again. And then the argument got heated, that’s when you came and the phone was shattered. He didn’t leave his room for like a straight week after that. And then he was sent back to the office in Berlin. Tonight’s his last night here, for god knows how long.”

That was a lot to take in. I had forgotten to tell Eliott about Nick. We had been so good then that nothing else mattered. Plus, if I were actually a fraud, would I be so reckless to flirt with a guy online, where _anyone_ could get access to it with a click? I had to ask him this, arguing with Saetre for hours would give me nothing.

“Here. He’s in there.” She parked in front of a hotel, gesturing me to leave. “9th floor, room 6. Tell them you’re Sofian Alaoui.”

I stared at her for a few seconds, trying to read her. Why was she helping me? Was _help_ the right word here? Why did she tell me all of that, would that be beneficial for her? “Why are you doing this?”

“Let’s say I either have a thing for modern-day romance or maybe I owe you an apology. Take your pick.”

*****

**Friday 21:45**

Shifting from one feet to another I was still uncertain about being present here. Maybe I should’ve dressed differently, or came by at a more reasonable time? But if he was leaving soon, I didn’t have any time to kill. What would be my purpose now? To change his mind, to encourage him to stay, or to pour all the blame on him and make him the villain to quench the thirst of my heartache? Maybe both but not in the order I thought of them.

Then the click of the door becoming unlocked happened and—“Sof what are you doing—“ and the sentenced that was dead in a second. I took in his scruffy shape, the hair that needed trimming, the few blemishes on those ever cutting cheekbones, the stubble, the raggedy shirt with—still a pair pf tailored trousers. So that hadn’t changed. Maybe he didn’t own any other sort of pants. Yet despite all of that, he was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

“Hey,” I breathed, clutching to my stupid coat and scarf _. Don’t close the door on me_

“Hey.” He said. Shit, was this level one all over again? That was the coldest hello I’d heard in my entire life.

“I wanted to talk” I said, which coincided exactly with his “How did you find me”. But apparently he’d heard because he nodded, stepping aside to let me enter. The room was very neat and it had a fantastic view. I wondered if the view from the hotel in Norway was better but I never got to see that room. He closed the door quietly, awkwardly coming to stand before me.

“Have a seat. Would you like a drink or—“

I sneezed. Well-done Lucas. Well-done. It did put a fraction of a smile on his face though. “Some tea?”

I nodded, taking a seat in the comfortable sofa while he called in for some tea and cakes. It arrived just two minutes after; we did spend that time quietly evading appearing in each other’s vision. I was drinking the warm cup when he decided silence was enough. “How did you find me?” He asked that question again.

“Saetre brought me here.”

He chuckled, it was bitter one, pouring a glass of wine for himself as he sat before me. “Did she now? What for?”

“I guess I deserve some explanation.”

“Expla—people these days are never satisfied.” He muttered with dry humor. 

I ignored his comment. “Why didn’t you try to contact me?”

“What do you want, Lucas?” He squinted, leaning in to rest his elbows on his thighs. “Just tell me and be done with it.”

 _Ouch. That hurt._ “Why are you being like this?” My voice wavered at the end of that. “I didn’t do you anything wrong. I don’t deserve to be treated like a criminal.”

He nodded, like those understand nodding, but the quick irregular ones that came with a clenched jaw and a hateful face. “You didn’t do me anything wrong? Holy shit— What do you want, another thirty thousand, is that it?”

“Is that your perception of me?”

He jolted, standing up from his seat to stare down at me. It made me feel insignificantly small, so I stood up, fixing my gaze on him. “Maybe. I’d get out if I were you.” He said.

“I saw your painting, of me.” I said. “It was a rainy Saturday afternoon. I was making fun of you for your obsession with classic literature, all the while exaggerating the impact of comic books on the modern culture. ‘For you it’s all about those marvel movies on big screen’ you said. I thought you were writing something, but you weren’t, were you?” I timidly took a step towards him. “I went to your apartment and you weren’t there.”

“What is your point—where are you going with this?”

“You remember it just as clearly as I do, don’t you?”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He sounded so weak, like a lost man in the inevitable eternity he’d created in his own mind. “Please go.”

I felt it was safe to get closer to him. I did, gently offering him his wrecked phone. He spared me a look, so full of emotions I couldn’t read it all. He could see my messages and missed calls notifications.

“I never wanted any money. I’m sorry if the circumstances made you feel like I was, but I was just as startled as you were, even more. Ask my friends, I had the most miserable days of my life in the past weeks. I can’t do it again. Don’t make me do it again, if you care for me even a little.”

“I called your house but no-one answered! If you are so honest—“

“That phone’s wrecked! We haven’t paid that bill since forever. All of that house is wrecked and I hate it so fucking much at this moment. Why didn’t you call me? My phone?”

“I- I was,” He closed his mouth. I cupped the side of his face. _It’s OK,_ I mouthed. “Was scared of you not answering, of you laughing or calling me crazy,”

“Baby,” I whispered. “I would never. How could you think I would?”

“I was- I wasn’t feeling OK in the days after that and then it seemed like forever once it was feeling better. Thought you’ve forgotten me. Then it was your neighbor friend, and—“

“Stop.” I cut him right there. “He was just a friend. There could be _no-one._ You could have called me a year after and I’d still have answered I swear to god I’m pathetic.” I stretched myself to find his lips. Being so close to him after all this time was making me heady all over again, reminding me why I was never able to resist him in the first place. He turned his face away, but not harshly, at war with himself.

“But… But I’m getting married.”

“Don’t.” I said, nuzzling at the side of his face.

“Lucas—“ He murmured. God that voice of his, when he was at the very bay of letting go. I had missed him, I had missed how I was with him, that feeling of being capable to do anything.

“I don’t care. Fuck-I don’t care. Is that bad that I don’t? Does that make a homewrecker or something?”

He huffed amusedly, the birth of a laugh visible there. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“I- I love you.” I couldn’t stop the cursed three words. I didn’t want to. I wanted him to know. I wanted _me_ to know.

“You love me?” He looked at me in the eyes for the first time that night. “Me?”

I frantically kissed him, whispering a silent _yes, idiot._ As if he didn’t know. He kissed me back fiercely, making me feel right into my knees how much he’d missed me. I winded my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, opening my mouth under his to let him do as he pleased.

“Wait wait wait—“ He pulled back reluctantly. “But you did use the money, my father—“

“The guy said I had to hire a lawyer if I didn’t want it and I didn’t want to spend another extra. I didn’t want to use it but Emma needed some financial help to avoid student debt—fuck , do I really have to explain it all now? Just kiss me!”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” and he did, and what a kiss it was, making some dragons fly around in my belly.

*****

**Saturday 7:03**

“Baby?” I called out when I felt the side of his bed empty. I was feeling anxious all over, what if he changed his mind over the night? That was stupid, that was the best sex of my life. I didn’t know much about his sexual records but it did end up with my being sore all over my lower limb, that had to mean something for him too, right?

“Sorry, had to call for breakfast.” He emerged from the door with a pair of sweats and nothing on top. Ok, maybe I wasn’t so sore for another round after all. Now with the light shining through the window I could see him more clearly. He had a perfect Mediterranean tan, in the middle of the winter. I seemed even more pale now compared to him. Awesome. He sat on my side of bed, bending down to press a kiss to my puffy closed eyelids. Sap. But whatever, I rather have the sappy him than not him.

“Say that again.” He whispered, trailing his soft lips from my eyes to my cheeks and then down to my neck.

“What?” I sounded so hoarse. I needed more sleep.

“You love me.” He laid his head there, between my shoulder and neck and fitted himself in the narrow space between my back and the edge of the mattress. That couldn’t be comfortable but I was too lax to inch away and give him more room.

“love you.” I yawned, hiding more of my body under the fluffy blankets. “Now give me some pancakes.”

“Lucas, I—“

“Don’t.” I pleaded. “Just let me enjoy this now, for few hours?”

“OK.”

*****

**Saturday 16:24**

We did enjoy the last hours. We made out like horny teenagers against any surface we found, fooled around in the big bathroom after I used every single bath bomb until they created an ugly black in the tub. Then we finished the final episode of Dark, he said he hadn’t watched a minute of it without me. We discussed the ending for about an hour, adding out own theories until we were close to a full-on philosophical argument. Then there was the lunch, a kind of shell and pasta thing with olives that Eliott seemed to love. I told him I won’t be eating that again.

I could see how he wanted to discuss what I was postponing. I figured I couldn’t avoid it forever; at some point we had to talk about that plane ticket on his desk for 7 p.m. I wish I could stretch time like it was an elastic material, to turn minutes into hours and hours into days and days to weeks. Even _that_ I feared might not be enough. I had forgotten in the last month how alive I felt with him. Now however, the banality’s shadow of everyday life was no longer casting itself on me and I could no longer go back.

“I wish we could stay here.” He told me when I found him by the window with a cup of coffee. The weather had gone cloudy again—soon there would be a heavy snow without doubt.

“How many baby universes can we make, is there a rule?” I teased. “Because we already have one, maybe two.”

He gave a sad smile, enclosing our distance with a hand around my back. “We can have as many as you’d like.”

“I can’t hardly manage two jobs, let alone two universes.” I chuckled. He didn’t.

“Baby, I have to go today.” He explained. “I can’t stay.”

“Yes, you can. Do it. Stay here, with me.” I was being childish, even raising my voice at him.

“It’s impossible. I am getting marri—“

“No,” I interrupted him. A wave of cold hit me once he brought his coffee to his mouth and away from my face. It made my shiver but not only from the cold. I was unable to picture it, Eliott kissing someone else. I wasn’t usually this petty.

“I promised my mom, Lucas. We had an argument last time we met. She wanted me to accept the company as my inheritance. She always loved me but when- we—when I was diagnosed,” He bit his lip then, stopping himself. His eyes lingered on me, waiting for a response. I squeezed his arm softly, urging him to continue. “There was this fear in her eyes, like she expected me to ruin my life any minute. I used to be fun, Lucas. I had friends, I partied every weekend, sometimes I was higher than empire state. And she was so scared. There was finally a word for what I had and it made her paranoid. We ended up having this argument and she said she wanted me look after the family business just to maintain my life. I—“ He sighed, running a nervous hand through his hair. I didn’t rush him; I was aware opening up was difficult for him. And even already he had given me so much information about himself. A partying young man with a joint tucked behind his ear with a circle of friends he got drunk with. It was like he was talking about another person, an entirely different person. “I told her to fuck off, that this was my life, and even if I want to fuck it up, it was my choice and she could seat back and watch. I—I heard she was dead the next morning. I didn’t even go to her funeral. I did some things after that, went off my medication for a while, hurt people, things I’m not proud of. Lucille is my oldest friend. She was always there for me; I can’t hurt her like this.”

“What about you, haven’t you been hurt enough?”

“I owe this to my mom. I owe this to her. Lucille and I are going to get divorced after my position as the CEO is secure. I’m just not sure how long will that be, but I need her support and her name next to me.”

It hurt to say the next words, but they had been on the very front of my late-night existential crisis. I had the opportunity to ask him now. I regarded the world outside the window. The office building could be seen from here; meretricious and cruel, to both of us; to him more unforgiving than me. The thick layer of dark clouds could fool me into thinking it was later than the actual time, time where he had to depart. “If you were engaged, then why did you come to me in the first place?”

“Because I’m selfish.” He answered immediately like he expected it. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to deny myself but I failed, obviously. And look at the mess I dragged you into.” His hands found my side, tracing the material of my worn out shirt as he bent down to kiss me. “I wish I could say I’m sorry.”

And it was when I realized it was never his stupid apology I wanted. But he was so honest, and I couldn’t find myself at all angry at him.

*****

**Tuesday 23:19**

Let’s face it. None of us were ready for what happened on Friday night. It was a regular night, the girls and I in the living room with Arthur washing the dishes in the kitchen. Emma was bitching about the new neighbors across the street who had just moved in with their four loud dogs. Manon was pretending to listen carefully while chewing on a plate full of ramen and taking notes of the news. She was definitely not listening carefully. And I was reviewing the events of the last few weeks, what a roller coaster had it been. In the End it was over with a kiss in the sidewalk as Eliott took his taxi and flew away to Berlin for his wedding. He promised me to keep in touch, although he had to be careful, his bride-to-be although aware of the nature of their union was still very careful, she didn’t want anyone to suspect anything. I, brain sick with love told him that would be enough.

Enough was better than nothing, right? Or maybe I was brainwashed with a pair of stormy eyes and an occasional smile. Either way, I didn’t regret it. I just hoped he’d soon get what he deserves.

“Can I finally get the remote control? Please I was almost finishing that movie.” Emma said sulkily.

“Emma it’s on Netflix. You can watch it any time you want.” Manon had a teasing tone and from what I could see her page was full. She usually didn’t need more than one page. “Sara is so going to lose it if I’m not done with this deadline. But since I’m an angel—“ She noticed my playful grin and how I seemed to realize she was done anyways “I let you watch your stupid movie.”

Emma clapped with the tip of her fingers as she made herself comfortable but there was a new problem. The password wasn’t working. She tried it few more times but nope, it was wrong. “That son of a bitch! He changed the password!”

“Who?” I asked, taking the remote from her to try myself.

“Alex! I blocked him on the instag—Oh fuck!”

And there you have it. The rest of what happened was such a turmoil that I can’t even recall the order of events. I guess this was how things went. Right after Emma screamed that last part, Arthur ran to the living room in a plastic apron with two plates in his hands to ask what happened when I saw the couch getting wet under Emma.

“Ew!” I said. “We have _two_ bathrooms!”

“It’s not pee you fucking idiot!” She yelled at me. “My water just broke!”

“Oh my god—“ Arthur hissed before actually passing out, breaking the plates a he fell on the floor. I thought I would be the one fainting when I hear those words but having one person unconscious on the ground and one having a panic attack was enough for medical emergency. Manon and I exchanged a look, both of us quickly getting to work.

“What should I do?” I questioned with a shaking voice, rubbing Emma’s back as she panted loudly. “Just-just try breathing Em,”

“Call an ambulance!” Emma screamed.

“No-one calls an ambulance for a delivery. Let me take an Uber—wait,”

“Hurry!” Emma said. I didn’t think she was necessarily under any pain. It was her stress talking. The couch got wetter and for some reason I had a feeling this was not her water. I wasn’t an expert when it came to female anatomy but that was a huge amount of discharge on the sofa. I decided to shut up about it this once. I wasn’t the one giving birth here so maybe I could to be more tolerating.

“Can’t find any!” Manon hissed with anger. “Shit, Nick has a car, I’m going to get him!”

And in ten minutes we were helping Emma into Nick’s old Volkswagen. Arthur tagged along with some energy drinks looking pale as a ghost. Someone had to take an ambulance for him at this point. Manon even asked him if he was sure about companying us but he said he couldn’t miss it. Emma didn’t let go of his hand for a second. Well they were already living together for a year before I had arrived, they were very close.

The ride to the hospital was many things but fun. For sure, it made me thank any god out there for not giving me a vagina because with the amount of sex I was having in the last months I would definitely be next to scream like that. During the entire ride Emma was moaning in pain right into my ear. Arthur was drinking an unhealthy amount of energy drinks that would keep him for two days straight. Then It was nick that was muttering _calm down, calm down,_ But I was pretty sure he was talking to himself. The only person who seemed to have a vague idea of what was going on was Manon—holding Emma’s hand nonstop and whispering sweet nothings to her. At some point I turned around from the front seat and I could see Arthur was helping Emma drink some Redbull.

“Arthur what the hell?” I yelled at him.

“Well she needs energy to push!” Arthur defended his choice, aggressively taking a sip himself.

“I’m pretty sure both of you are going to throw up before we even get there!” I snapped back, incisively rubbing my face as Nick pressed the gas. His car was older than any of us, it wouldn’t be unexpected to have her baby in the car.

*****

**Wednesday 01:35**

After an agonizingly distressful amount of time finally Emma was at peace with the little newborn beside her in the bed. I’m not going to lie; it was not beautiful. The baby, a boy, was pink and small with big eyes. Emma was holding him to her chest, very much looking like she had been through hell. Manon and Arthur were already cheering, taking turns and asking Emma to hold him. She seemed so tired that the idea was quite fetching to her. She did give him to Manon as Arthur and I decided to fill in the files as they rested in the room.

Don’t get me wrong, I did want to hold the baby but he was really tiny—I was afraid of dropping him. Arthur on the other hand was quite grumpy that it wasn’t him who got to hold him first. It was petty but he was the person most excited about the child out of all of us. Arthur was the one filling out the files when I had a text from Eliott’s new number, asking me where I was and why I wasn’t answering my phone. I got caught up texting him back when another doctor came up to me, asking me something that ended with _… was listening. Are you certain?_ and I dismissively replied with ‘ask _Arthur.’_

“Arthur?”

“Yeah, Arthur. It’s Him.” I pointed to Arthur with a tilt of head but she didn’t walk up to him. I guess whatever it was it was solved on its own.

_*Eliott: Send me a pic of you with the baby_

_*You: You wish_

I smiled when I saw the text, following Arthur to her room out of instinct when we were done. Emma was more cheerful now, maybe Arthur’s energy drinks wasn’t a stupid idea after all. She allowed Manon to hand the tiny baby to Arthur.

“Have you thought of any names?” Nick asked her, making funny faces at the baby even though his eyes were close. “You were insisting on giving him a name after the birth.”

“I guess. Any suggestions?” She asked. After seeing the weird looks we were giving her she shrugged. “You guy are like my family. Come on.”

“Well. I always liked Henry.” Manon shrugged, grinning at Nick. “I wanted it for myself, but you can have it.”

“Nah,” Emma said. “Maybe—“

“Miss Borges?” A doctor stepped inside, holding a clipboard as he regarded all of us with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just pushed a baby out.” She joked, making me cringe a little but the doctor only laughed.

Writing down a note before pointing the baby, he said “Please do inform us once the little Arthur is sleeping so that we can run a few quick tests on him, make sure he’s all healthy and ready to go,”

“What?” Arthur, Emma and Manon asked simultaneously.

“Well I’m afraid it’s essential.” He explained. “We run it on every baby—“

“no, no. Arthur is not a baby. He’s childish but he’s not a baby.” Emma said.

“Yeah I’m Arthur.” Arthur introduced himself with a small hand wave. “I feel slightly nauseous but otherwise I’m fine. No needles needed.”

“No, no, no. The baby! My Intern said she came to the room and you said his name is Arthur, then these gentlemen in the hall confirmed it so we added it to your file and the computer.”

 _Oh fucking shit._ I just recalled what that young doctor was asking me. _Sir I think your girlfriend said your baby’s name was Arthur but I wasn’t sure she was listening. Are you certain?_ Emma gave me a dry accusing glance and I gave her the fakest shit-eating apology smile I could manage.

“Your intern asked me if I knew guy filling out my forms and I said his name was Arthur—not that my baby’s name is Arthur!”

“But your friends—“ He was the very picture of confused. “Excuse me for a minute, _Hailey!_ ” He stormed out of the room.

“Guys I am so sorry!” I began but when Nick and Manon burst into laughter, Emma joined them.

“Maybe it’s not that bad.” She scrunched her nose, taking the baby’s chin between her fingers and kissed her forehead. “It suits him.”

I sighed with relief but Arthur didn’t. He gave us all nasty looks whilst yelping a what and giving me the finger.

It was all quiet until in ten minutes Emma started crying again, and we all thought maybe she was regretting the decision or maybe she was in pain, but she just shook her head with suppressed pain as she sobbed _I still can’t believe Alex changed the Netflix Password_

*****

**Thursday 11:09**

“Oops shit I’m sorry!” Sally rushed to change the romantic song on the speaker, the very one that I had asked her to turn off few weeks ago. But this time I wanted to hear it.

“No, it’s alright.” I said. “Let it play.”

She was dumbfounded, eyes wide and looking at me like I was the weirdest moron on the planet. She was, too. She was working in this vampire shop just like me. “OK man whatever _you_ say,”

_Baby, you're all that I want, When you're lyin' here in my arms, I'm findin' it hard to believe, We're in heaven_

This time, that song made me smile. I pulled out my phone to text Eliott.

_*When will I see you again :(?_

It didn’t take long before he answered.

_*Eliott <3: Soon_


	17. Two surprises and one apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so it all comes to end here:'(  
> I really enjoyed writing this fic. It was my first attempt at bringing some humor into my writing and in the end I just hope you guys had a good time reading it <3 <3

**Sometime in late April, Friday 19:23**

Basile’s farm was altering from your everyday field near the road to a gem in the countryside. He was passionate about what he was doing; his progress was very noteworthy. The last time I was there was for his graduation party. At the time I was dating someone, his name I don’t even remember, and he was pissed at me for bringing him there in a dead land. Now my plus one here was Arthur— _Arthur junior._ Little boy was loyal, he cried when anyone even except Arthur, his mom and I tried touching him.

Emma was having the time of her life, taking huge gulps from grandpa Basile’s vintage wine collection—she was clearly going to get wasted by the evening if she kept that up. Manon was showing off her new boyfriend, Nick, and fuck! Who didn’t see that coming? He was stealing everyone’s heart with his ill French. Girls found it attractive and guys found it amusing enough to gather around. Arthur had brought Saetre, who clearly had a harder time charming people than Nick but nevertheless she had Basile’s attention with asking him about real-state prices around the area. Arthur’s ex Alexia kept giving her some dirty glances but I doubted she even noticed any of them. Maybe I was growing to like her after all, though I would never admit it to her face, nope. Basile was playing the soft feudal again, forcing us to do some chores but thanking us after we nagged. Even though he didn’t spare us from the task, the kindness was never unappreciated.

The weather was incredibly heavenly; there was a soft breeze coming from north and even though the cold was still present, it wasn’t bothering me. The trees were a fresh pastel green color, an appeasing contrast to the dark grey clouds in the background once I looked up. and I was glad I decided to help outdoors. I had missed life here and I was so tempted to come back. But I couldn’t convince myself just yet. Eliott could come back to me out of nowhere. He was soon going to be elected as the CEO and I was counting seconds to read about his divorce on the internet. Did that make me a bad person? Possibly.

We were supposed to be here in the late march, to discover the so-called ‘Surprise’ basile had prepared for Daphne. But he postponed it due to ‘structural insufficiencies’, whatever that was. He was so far holding up pretty great, for the first time keeping a secret for more than two hours, really impressive. Still, he was _Basile._

“Guys, are we all here? Yeah?” He counted us once more, causing every single one of the boys to roll their eyes at him. He had sent a text in group chat demanding us to drop whatever we were doing and meet him in the excess stable in the backyard. And so here we were, Yann, Arthur, Himself and I. Everyone else were already inside preparing a smoky rabbit.

“Yes. Do you want to count again? In case you missed one of us.” Arthur snickered, which wasn’t the brightest idea because Basile counted us, _again._

“Jeez man, what the hell is going on? You got into a local drug cartel or something?” Yann questioned him, totally serious as he glanced around the place.

“No. I have planned a surprise.”

“Don’t mind me but you being a drug lord would be one hell of a surprise.” Yann commented again, making Arthur and I chuckle. It was actually a funny image, _Breaking Basile._

“I’m not doing anything illegal. At least not that I’m aware of.”

“Then what?” I asked, so exasperated. Emma was probably finishing all that expensive wine all by herself.

“Right. Sorry. Listen, I want to ask Daphne to marry me.”

_Okay he had dementia._ The three of us exchanged some concerned looks, Arthur even reached out to measure his temperature. Because seriously—

“Didn’t you already do that?” I was the first to speak. “Correct me if I’m wrong but you are…engaged.” I pointed to the very obvious golden ring on his left hand. Even if he wasn’t wearing that him and Daphne were the optimum of romantics. They had written the word engaged all caps in all their social medias and the day after their engagement they went so far to send a text message informing us all _individually._ I was certain queen of England hadn’t done such.

“Well I was such a fucking weirdo. I asked her to marry me via an E-mail. It was a less anxious method and it did give me an extra few days to face the reaction. Daphne doesn’t check her mails regularly.”

Arthur choked, literally choked on nothing when Basile said that. Because he said it with such a fucking straight face and confident pride that if a foreigner listened to him and then was asked to judge his statement based on only his tone, they’d say he did something very genius. However, that was the worst proposal story I had ever heard of. What the fuck was wrong with Daphne? If someone asked me to marry them via an E-mail I would call the relationship quits immediately, not call everyone to let them know I married someone with two brain cells.

“I’m sorry, come again?” Yann was puzzled, who wasn’t?

“I proposed to her via an E-mail. Can we get past this already so that I can—“

It took one single glimpse, just one; Arthur’s eyes found mine and that was all we needed to burst into laughter. Yann wasn’t far behind us. _What the fuck man?_ One of them managed to gasp between crying to laughter and I didn’t understand which. It didn’t matter because _what the fuck._

“Fine. Weird. weird I know. But listen to me! Daphne deserves be—what the hell Arthur?“ Arthur let out breathe that was like someone had punched him in the gut, holding onto Basile’s shoulder with one hand in order to keep himself stable as he bent with the force of his laughter.

“Shit, sorry. Keep going.” He managed to say with a hoarse sound.

“Daphne deserves better. So I want to ask her to marry me again, with you all here. She loves attention and I think this will spoil her perfectly. I got some instruments and stuff, was wondering if you played that song she likes? The JT one, Can you do that?”

“You are so stupid, Jesus.” I chuckled. “Kind, but stupid.”

“Hey you’re gay! Aren’t you supposed to be into romantic shit?” He protested.

“I’m gay means I’m into dick and shit, if a guy proposed to me like that I call it quits.” I said, noting how Arthur was going to pass out again if he continued laughing with that intensity. Yann also seemed to be putting every cell in his body at one task only, not to join Arthur and play the adult here.

“Guys, please! Will you help me or what?”

“Yeah. Whatever for our shy E-boy!” Yann teased him but Basile didn’t even take offense, he just sighed with relief.

*****

**Saturday 16:05**

“Why do I have a feeling he’s going to mess it up again?” Yann whispered into my ear, _not_ a rhetorical question—it took me a second to realize it. Why wasn’t Basile here yet? The boys and I didn’t have nearly enough practice with the worn out instruments he’d given us and even Noora was helping with an extra acoustic guitar. Apparently Basile’s dad used to be in a band when he still lived in the countryside and the grandfather never threw their stuff away. They were out of tune and half of the time I feared if I pressed a key on the piano a little too hard, it might break in two. I didn’t test that theory, though.

I could hear the clock of Daphne’s pink heels and the wailing of baby Arthur as she was walking upstairs to the attic Basile had decorated. And it must have taken him quite a long time because it was truly gorgeous. Well if you ask me, Daphne deserved the moon itself after not dumping him over the years. _And not getting married to someone else._ My mind bitterly supplied, which I pushed to the side. I pulled my phone to see if there were any messages from Eliott but no. His phone must have been off because I hadn’t even received a delivery from my last text. I decided not to overthink the situation. It usually served me more drama and pain whenever I tried to create my own version of story with zero information except a sense of anxiousness.

“Guys guess what?” Emma asked in a derisive voice as she installed the final colored light bulb above the door. I wasn’t really sure if having one exactly above the door was the brightest idea ever.

“What?” I asked her instead, absentmindedly.

“Arthur sat on my lap last night!” She chuckled, making Arthur dismissively make a downturned face and mimic her silently. It had become her favorite joke so far, turning everything her son was doing into a innuendo to piss Arthur off. I think it was why she didn’t seem so upset about us naming her son instead. She was really into those wicked jokes. “And after that I had to clean his butt cheeks from all the mess—ow!” Basile rushed into the attic, closing the door behind himself as he was hyperventilating.

“She’s coming! She’s coming!”

“The information I was dying to know.” Yann joked.

“She’s like three steps away. Don’t mess up, please!” He ran a hand through his messy curls, giving Emma a camera to record the entire thing because they were _Basile and Daphne._ They wanted everything about their life documented into zeros and ones.

Then he closed the curtains quickly and turned on the colorful lightbulbs. We started playing when he gave us a thumbs up and once the door had opened. “Emma where are you? Arthur hasn’t—AH!” I was pretty certain people in the next village heard her scream. Not because she was surprised, but because the lamp Emma had placed above the door exploded due to the force of the door smashing it.

We stopped playing because for some reason _all_ the lights had gone off, the wires were all connected.

“Oh shit.” I could hear Arthur muttering before Daphne finally spoke. “What is going on?”

No-one was talking and I was seriously pitying Basile now. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and pressed the keys under my fingers. I didn’t play the song Basile had requested earlier, but I played a melody I knew. It wasn’t necessarily romantic but it was better than utter silence.

“What’s going on?” Daphne asked again.

This time Arthur turned on his mobile flashlight and soon others were following. All eyes were on Daphne and she was mesmerized, even more so as Basile knelt on his knees and asked her to marry him, again. She didn’t even deadpan to remind him he’d already done this. With Emma’s baby sandwiched between them, she started chanting a series of yeses as they both kissed.

“Look. Arthur’s between Bassy and Daphy as they kiss.” This time Yann supplied this, causing a glare from Arthur, _seriously man?_ It supplied.

*****

**Two weeks later, Tuesday 17:32**

So it was all back to the way it had been; once again just the three if us in the tiny apartment. Manon didn’t go back with us, stating her boss was getting exasperated. Nick also said he was packing up to move to Paris. His job was on a camera he said, and Manon was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen so why risk it all for his only property, a tiny apartment?

If you ask me, I say that was a pretty romantic decision. If you ask Arthur, he says he will miss his puddings and cakes. If you ask Emma, she claims love makes people go irrational and stupid. She even said landlord was tragically devastated to learn that Nick was leaving us, saying he was the single best resident in the entire apartment. He also threatened to kick us out of the baby so much make one loud cry past midnight. It just made Emma more determined to start searching for her own house.

The upstairs was empty now and we were all wondering who was going to be our new neighbor.

And my jobs? I still worked for Bianchi in that vampire thrift shop, still had a shift in the diner and my newest job was being a nanny for baby Arthur. Sometimes I even had to take him with me to work; Emma couldn’t take him to her school, Arthur couldn’t take him to the office and we didn’t have an extra dollar to spend to get an actual nanny. Baby Arthur and I were making quite a bond; I wouldn’t be surprised if he learnt my name before the word _mama._

Eliott was a part-time phantom but I had learnt not to be overly greedy. We still talked on daily basis, had late night video calls in the weekends and even had these online dates where we watched the same movie, listened to the same album, ate the same food and chatted about it in a supposed date. Yet I missed him every second. I only had two pictures of him in my gallery, and a video clip of him as an over edited meme in the YouTube. I would never admit it or send it to him but that video was so cute.

I did mention something about the guy at the diner who looked like him and Eliott…let’s just say he wasn’t pleased. Around the time I had told him the guys shows up he kept sending me messages and was I to complain about it? No.

_*New message, Eliott <3: Are you busy?_

I smiled at my phone as I typed my reply.

_*you: Going for a break soon;)_

*****

**Sunday 10:04**

Last night Emma told me the apartment upstairs was finally rented. She was returning from the bar when she had taken a glimpse of him, a tall guy in a trench coat. He was alone, with few furniture that Emma was sure were not quite enough for a living. She also said something about the canvases the guy was taking upstairs. My ears perked up at the mention of that, the coffee mug freezing in my hold as I exchanged a look with Arthur. Could it be—

He shrugged, holding baby Arthur to his chest while trying to feed him some warm milk. “Don’t know.” He mouthed.

“Emma do we have any pudding left from last night?” I abruptly questioned her, searching through the refrigerator for anything.

“Why?”

“Friendly neighbor welcome pie?” I cocked an eyebrow, making a comment that I was certain didn’t match my personality.

“Since when you care about neighbors?” Arthur asked. “You never even talk to Bridget.”

“Who’s that?”

“My point!” He chuckled I just rolled my eyes at him. To my delight, there was a slice of cake in the fridge. I put it in an aesthetically pleasing container as I put on a pair of sneakers to run upstairs. I could hear them behind me as I closed the door. _The hell was that?_

*****

**Sunday 10:12**

From one feet to the other, I shifted my weight as I waited for the new neighbor to open the door. _Could it be?_ I asked myself one more time. Eliott wasn’t online last night, and he did mention something about surprise, given his history, it wouldn’t be out of character for him to do something so unexpected.

Nobody answered. I knocked a few more times, finally giving in as nothing but the sound of my own knocking on the door echoed in the hallway. Screw it, I thought, walking the rusty stairs down until I was eventually outside the building. I sat down on the stairs for a few minutes, enjoying the soft glow of the spring sun above me. I ate the cake all by myself, savoring the syrup and nut on it. Maybe I became too invested for I noticed the person in front of me just when his shadow casted over me. I looked up, ready to face anyone but—

“This isn’t a proper time, not the setting for a breakfast. Someone said breakfast is the most important meal of the day, huh?”

I was speechless. It was Eliott, him, solid and real and so ethereal right in front of me. How was he standing there so casually, like he did every single day, like he had just met me two hours ago, not months ago. I still had mouth full of cake, didn’t even chew on it as I swallowed the entire thing. I hiccupped, right away and he chuckled. I rose up, leaving the rest of the cake on the stairs as we stood face to face. “Eliott?” I all but jumped on him, kissing him with no grace but all pent up feelings of longing. I had to break away from him to breathe in the end, smiling against his lips. “Hey,”

“Hey.” He whispered. “Neighbor.” He added.

“ _You_ bought Nick’s place?” I pulled back, only slightly to get an eyeful of him, running my hands all over his face and hair and shoulders, still digesting the fact that he was here. I had wanted him to be the one who bought the place, yet to have that hypothesis confirmed? I was on cloud nine.

“I did.” He shrugged. “And I sold all my share. I have an interview for another office around here. Not anything big but, I get to chance to build my own career from the start. And my life,” He explained, a hint of desperation visible in his voice. That was too much for me to process. He had sold his _shares?_ All of them? He quit? But, the—“But the CEO thing?”

“It’s over. I gave it to Lucille. I think she was the best option all along.”

“But—But—she’s your wife?” My eyes travelled to his ring finger. There wasn’t anything in there. He held his left hand up to wiggle his fingers.

“I guess I had the shortest wedding in our family history. So much to make my dad proud.” He grinned, bending down to capture my lips in another deep kiss. Another one of those and I would beg him to take me upstairs.

“Your said- your mom—I’m just so overwhelmed!” I panted against his mouth.

“Baby calm down!” He smirked, but it was a kind one. “I’m sure my mom understands. I liked my job, but not the way I was doing it. She was always scared I screw things up. I-I don’t know. I think I _am_ screwing things up in some way.. yet, I’m just… I feel so free, I’m happy! “

“Yeah, me too.” I whispered, pecking his lips repeatedly. “So is your mom,” I confirmed it for him.

“Yeah. We can talk about this upstairs while you give your neighbor a hand to arrange the furniture.” He winded his arm around me, guiding me inside before he asked.

“What makes you think I will do that?”

“What if I promised I would make it _very_ worth your while after that?”

I entwined our fingers and smiled at him cheekily. We had come so far since the first time I met him, from descending in an elevator to ambling the stairs in my apartment. In the memory of our first encounter I surreptitiously sniffed him. Yes, vanilla, tobacco and coffee. Before I could tell him any of these however, someone yelled in the hallway _Lucas you better not have left that cake on the stairs I made it myself!_

“Oh shit!”


End file.
